Garden delights and The Gangster's Wife

The garden is enjoying the sunshine today, so here are some pics.

Wild clematis on the garden fence.

This particular foxglove is now over 6ft tall.

The first of our gazanias is now in bloom and soaking up the sunshine.

The Bowl of Beauty peony is fully in bloom and wonderfully showy.

Red petunias in one of our hanging baskets.

We've managed to save the gerbera from whitefly and it's bloomed again.

In other news, I've finished the first draft of comic novel, The Gangster's Wife. There'll be a lot of editing to do, and I'll change the order round here and there, but it's good to have a complete draft to play with. Particularly after this year, which I've found tough on the writing/publishing front, to say the least - I didn't think I'd ever get round to finishing anything again and it all felt very overwhelming, hey ho. But, heck, somehow I've done it so, even though the book won't score highly on anyone's reading radar, I'm quietly satisfied.

Anne Brooke Books

Gay Reads UK

The Gathandrian Fantasy Trilogy (gay-themed)

The Gifting Book Tour Day Nine: writing about writers

It had to happen one day, didn't it? When I started writing over twelve years ago now, I promised myself I'd never write about writers, as that was just odd and somehow incestuous, and I've been rather snooty about those who do ... Those of you who've read The Gifting will know that my main character, Simon Hartstongue, is a scribe, so with the Gathandrian Trilogy, I've had to eat my own words, along with a huge slice of humble pie. I'd best keep my big mouth shut and my preconceived ideas to myself next time, eh ...

Anyway, it's Day Nine of my book tour, and if you visit Christine Young's site, you can find out more about why I didn't follow my own writerly advice and exactly how that's changed the way I write. Don't forget to leave a comment to enter the free ebook giveaway, and there's a Kindle to be won too. Good luck!

Anne Brooke
The Gathandrian Trilogy

Elstead goes Hollywood

Book News:

I've had great fun today during the first day of shooting for the Milletti Films project - goodness but these people work hard! I've been filmed going up the stairs, coming down the stairs, going up and then coming down again, leaving a room, making tea in the kitchen for the builders, chatting to the (rather startled) postman, and then interviewed in the living room about my life in Surrey, and in my study about my writing life. Tomorrow, on Day Two of the Elstead/Hollywood extravaganza, they'll be filming me attempting (ha!) to play golf, sitting in the garden, sitting in church, praying in my prayer room (what do you mean you don't have a prayer room?!? Shocking indeed ...) and walking through Elstead. Best wear decent shoes then.

It's been hard work and I have no idea where their energy comes from, but I've had a great time. Shame that my request for a magnum of champagne and a small terrier appeared to fall on deaf ears, but one can only try. I'm still waiting for my trailer to arrive ...

Back in the (slightly) more normal book world, I'm pleased to say that gay short story Brady's Choice gained a 4-star review at Goodreads, and For One Night Only was my most popular book this week at Amazon UK.

I've also just finished the fifth book in the Delaneys series and have submitted it to Amber Allure. Gosh, I do hope they like it.

Finally, I was utterly thrilled that the lovely Sharon Bidwell was kind enough to comment on some of my books recently. Many thanks, Sharon - I really appreciate that.

And my review of the really wonderful Heart of Tango by Elia Barcelo is now at Vulpes Libris Reviews. Read and buy it as soon as you can - it's passionate, powerful and almost perfect - what more could you ask for?

Life News:

We're continuing to dry out the carpet and the underlay after the Sunday roofing disaster, and it looks like it might be getting there, slowly. The underlay seems fine now and the carpet is certainly lighter as we move it around to encourage it, so that's good. I'm a bit concerned about the staining on the ceiling and walls of K's study though, where the water came in - I'm hoping we can just paint over at some point, and it won't get any mould problems. We'll have to see.

Today, I was also exceptionally brave when the roofers asked me to go up onto the roof and look at the chimney to see what I thought. Pause for a round of applause! I was really quite jittery going up and down the ladder, but the walk round the scaffolding was nice and the view from the top just stunning. Not sure I'd want to risk it a second time though - so I've agreed we should get a quote from a chimney man and then take a decision about what to do with it.

We've also managed, in between rescuing the house and attempting somewhat foolishly to live a normal life, to turn the dark and nasty corner of our garden into a riot of bedding plant colour. I really like it now, whereas it's been irritating me before. The rest of the garden has also received a serious de-weeding, and it looks much better. We just have to decide what the heck to plant in it. It's amazing how big the beds actually are, when we come to study them. The garden really isn't as small as we assume it is - it's just that it's wide rather than long, and seems to pack a lot into a limited space. I think we'd like a bed of white flowers to go with the pink and white roses - which now have some leaves/buds coming out, well gosh. You plant things and sometimes they grow - it's a revelation to us.

And K and I had a great deal of fun with the rest of the group at our Lent course on Wednesday. Most of us have decided that the video we're following has some seriously dodgy theology and a curious view of debate, and I also think it would be nice if the chappie in the video would occasionally mention the resurrection as if he might believe it. You know, just so we could see he knew the word, deep sigh. Mind you, getting annoyed with said chappie has made me think about what it is I do actually believe, and I'm beginning to realise I'm probably more traditional than I thought I was. So, K and I have come to the conclusion that we're theologically (and indeed politically) conservative, and socially liberal. Hey, that's about a good a summing-up as any, I suppose.

Anne Brooke
The Gathandrian Trilogy
Gay Reads UK
Biblical Fiction UK

Dating dilemmas, discounts and drama

Book News:

There's good news on the review front for gay erotic short story Dating the Delaneys - I'm very pleased to have gained both a 4 star review (thanks, Nithu) and a 5 star review (thanks, Marsha) at Goodreads. Plus you can find out more about my own particular dating dilemmas (ah, the bitter truth!), not to mention Liam's rather naughtier ones, at today's Amber Allure blog - go on, you know you want to ...

Meanwhile, over at Untreed Reads, there are some excellent discounts throughout November, so don't forget to visit and pick up a bargain this month!

I'm continuing on with the first draft of my gay erotic story, The Eye of The Beholder, and am now, I think, about halfway through. It's taking off in directions I hadn't bargained for, but that's par for the course with the writing game. You never know what's really going to happen when the fingers hit those keys. That's part of the fun of it all indeed.

The Sunday haiku is very seasonal this week:

Leaves rustle my feet,
path of gold for my journey:
autumnal delight.


Life News:

I had a very inspirational day on Thursday - I had a day's workshop in the big city on Putting Students at the Heart of the System which was really very good indeed, and gave me, and the office I suspect, a whole load of things to think of and plan for in the future. It was also wonderful to sit and chat with people I knew of from the business, but hadn't had the chance to have an in-depth conversation with before. Well worth it - but totally exhausting as I'd forgotten how soul-destroying the commute to London actually is. Thank the Lord I don't have to do it any more - honestly, I could never go back. It's a young person's game.

Then it was a mad dash back home, as K and I went to see Henry V as done by the Propeller Theatre Company at the Yvonne Arnaud in Guildford. Wonderful stuff - it's always fabulous to see a production where the actors aren't afraid of the text and in fact can make it sing. Really the older I get the more I object to productions which aim to make the text easier by cutting it or changing the sense - I didn't much mind when I was young but now I think if they don't have an actor who can make the text come alive, then get one who can. After all, Rachmaninov ain't easy to play but nobody tries to change the notes to enable people to do so, harrumph. Anyway sermon over. I particularly enjoyed the way the actors divided the chorus speeches so that each man on stage had a few lines of it - it made total sense in the battle setting. The use of music was also very cleverly done and didn't detract from anything. The only issue I had was that the actor playing Henry himself was good but not great. You needed someone with a lot more charisma in the role, as charm maketh the man. It was also interesting that it was an all male company - which made me think I'd love to see the play done by an all female company as I think that would be even more powerful. But I'd definitely go and see Propeller do Shakespeare again. Macbeth anybody? Please ...

Yesterday, K and I spent a very pleasant day at Mottisfont Abbey Garden, admiring the Winter Garden and the new art exhibition based on paper. Astonishingly some of the roses were still out so we must go back in summer next year when they'll be at full bloom. You can never have too many roses, to my mind.

And today, of course, was the Remembrance Service at church, and then the ceremony round the war memorial. It's the first time we've attended in Elstead and I thought they did it very well indeed. It was eye-opening too when they were reading out the names of the dead how many families must have had all their sons wiped out in such a short time. Horrendous really.

For the rest of the day, we've gardened for Britain. I've done the rest of the weeding at the back, thus creating a fabulous amount of space to put new plants in, hurrah. And K has trimmed the laurel trees at the side. So we have yet more bags of garden waste for the nice people at the Council to collect at some point.

Finally, at the risk of being the only voice in the country to say this, I must confess that the new John Lewis Christmas advert with that pesky goody-two-shoes boy leaves me utterly cold. What on earth is everyone "sobbing with joy at their desks over it" for?? Hmm, perhaps they're on drugs ... Anyway, it's a one-trick pony with sentimentality daubed on like treacle and sets my teeth on edge. The whole dull family should be given a good sharp slap and told to get real, for heaven's sake. Whatever can John Lewis be thinking?!?

Anne Brooke
The Thoughtful Corner

Tesco and topiary

Life News:

We've been in our new home for a week now and I'm loving it. The only downside is the influx of spiders we're getting (yuck!) but of course that's with having a garden and the joys of the season, I fear. Still, battling back, I have bought some spider doom equipment and a keep away spray so here's hoping that will thin out the wretched beasts. Even so, it's not as bad as where I grew up on a farm where the spiders were the size of wheels and frequently armed. Double yuck.

Other discoveries we've made this week are that we have a hazelnut tree, complete with nuts, in the garden and some hazelnut sprigs scattered around, and that the weird switch near the kitchen door lights up the under-the-cupboard areas around the kitchen walls. All very odd, but I imagine it will give the kitchen a romantic aura in winter, hey ho. Not convinced how vital it is however.

Our lovely friends, L & J, have once again come to the rescue and donated us their no-longer-wanted fridge freezer as our fridge has been broken for weeks. At the Woking flat, we'd resorted to keeping things in cool boxes in order to avoid serious food diseases. Now, it's bliss - we hadn't realised margarine could be so firm (as it were) as recently we've been all but drinking it. So another big round of applause for L & J - I fear that soon their house will be nothing but an empty shell as all their worldly goods eventually make their way to ours!...

This week, K has removed the area of dead lavender bush near the vegetable patch, and trimmed the topiary ball, which now looks far better. Hey, I've always wanted a topiary ball and now I have one! K didn't look keen when I mentioned wanting a matching pair, but he did so well with the trimming that I don't want him to lose the skill ... We've also ordered a composting bin from the council so we're seriously getting stuck in.

Yesterday, I popped into our old doctor's as I was due an appointment anyway and I wanted to say a proper goodbye as we're in the process of joining the Elstead one. She's been ruddy brilliant with me and my various ailments and I'll really miss her - but apparently not too much as I found out she lives two roads away from me in the village. Honestly, Elstead is truly the centre of the known universe, you know. All the best people come here.

Today, Jane H (hello, Jane!) came round for coffee, a chat and a tour of the estate (well, in my dreams, eh), which was fabulous. And she bought us a lovely French lavender bush as a house-warming present - thank you, Jane! - so we can plant that where we pulled out the dead lavender earlier on, hurrah. Plus, just now, Tesco have delivered enough shopping to feed the British army (should they arrive for tea ...) and I have fed the freezers, which should keep them happy for a while.

In the meantime, I'm waiting for British Gas to arrive to give us a first service, but no signs yet. Still, if we didn't have to wait for a gasman, then it wouldn't really be England, hey ho.

Book News:

I've started writing again, which has been very much on the back-burner for a week or so. I'm working on a literary gay short story at the moment, tentatively entitled In the Silence of The Heart, but I'm taking it steady and I think it be a while before I get properly into a routine again. But it's nice to be back, however lightly.

Literary lesbian short story The Girl in the Painting has surprised me again by turning up as the No 2 international bestseller in August at Untreed Reads, well gosh. And don't forget that there are a lot of book bargains to be had in September at the Untreed Reads bookstore - shop early, shop often!

Meanwhile, at Vulpes Libris Reviews, you can find my review of To Marry a Prince by Sophie Page, a right royal romance that's light-hearted and great fun and should take you happily into the autumn.

Here are this week's meditation poems:




Meditation 567
Somewhere in this cacophony
of trumpet, horn and harp,
shouts, wild applause and song

there must be a memory
of silence, an unheard voice
to rest upon.




Meditation 568
Even the holy Levites
needed administrators

which just goes to show
that a good secretary

is always worth her weight
in blessings.




Meditation 569
A list of holy names
in which I have
no real interest
fills my mind
and this quiet room.

I cannot catch
any wisdom here
and my frail attempts
at prayer
end too soon.


Anne Brooke
The Thoughtful Corner

A glorious writing day

I've spent a really quite fulfilling day today simply writing. I'd half-forgotten how fulfilling it can be, as and when it wants to be. Really I've done little else. Here's today's meditation:

Meditation 202

The coolness
of the garden:

something remembered
from a time

before your time.
Tears, secrecy

and a vanished love
unfold

to a dazzle of angels
and his voice.


Getting to the end of the Gospel of St John now. As you may be able to tell. I'm wondering how I'm going to find the Book of Acts, as that's a rollercoaster ride for sure.

Anyway, I'm pleased to be able to tell you that I have finally (at last!) finished the short story I've been working on for what seems like ages, but is probably only days. It's an erotic short story about a male prostitute who doesn't quite have sex with a rather mysterious client, and who may or may not be in love with his pimp. Well, I'm a simple soul at heart. As you know. And it's tough here in the shires ... I'm also happy that I've finally found the right title for it. The working title up to this point has been Heavy Air, which I hated. But this morning, I looked at it and thought: Aha! A Stranger's Touch. That's the one. So there it is. Done. I've also sent it off to a possible publisher and we'll wait and see. Never say I'm not focused.

I have also read Julian Fellowes' Past Imperfect for the University reading group and I must say it's an utterly stunning novel. I have been gripped, my dears, gripped. It's not quite perfect, but it's pretty damn close. I won't say much more as I'm hoping to write a review for it for Vulpes Libris when we're all back from our summer break - but what I would say is this: if you see it buy it. It's one classy broad. As they say. And I can never resist an unnamed narrator. Bring them on!

Tonight, I'm chilling - as hell I deserve it. And there's New Tricks on TV too. Ooh, lovely.

Today's nice things:

1. Writing
2. Poetry
3. Finishing my short story
4. Books
5. TV.

Anne Brooke - pretty damn twisted but rarely dull ...
A Dangerous Man: another prostitute to die for

Several decisions and a landmark reached

I have finally made my mind up and left the WriteWords site today. I was actually intending to cancel my account in March, but I logged in this morning and for the first time in ages had a look round - and then thought: no, enough is enough. It's time to leave on the grounds that it's all very worthy, I'm sure, but it no longer suits the amateur writer that I am. So that's done. And it feels both liberating and right - two states of mind not at all to be sniffed at, rare as they are in this oh-so-busy world. I wish them all the best in the future, naturally enough, but it's not for me.

In the meantime, here's today's meditation poem:

Meditation 10

The light
wipes out the fact of things

makes what is there
seem as if it is not

so that already
when I search for you

I know
you will be gone.


I've also made several unexpected submissions - something I've not done for a while. These include a short story to Espresso Fiction, another to First Edition Publishing, and four pieces of flash fiction to the University of Chester Flash Magazine. So I feel very decisive and will expect a series of the usual rejections any day now ... But, hell, at least I'm keeping my hand in, eh.

At the same time, another exciting landmark has been reached. I am now happily at just over 60,000 words in Hallsfoot's Battle, which is where I wanted to be by the end of November, hurrah! Hang up the bunting and crack open the champagne, people! It's a Celebration Day. And so beautifully timed with Thanksgiving too (I hope my US readers are having a wonderful day also ...). And, plot-wise, I've discovered something strange about Talus, the young boy who lives with Annyeke - it's an odd gift but I'm hoping it will come in useful later on in the battle (which surely has actually to start sometime now I'm halfway through the novel, ho ho ...). I just don't know how yet.

Tonight, I'm out in London seeing Jane W, so am looking forward to curry and chat. Though first I have to run the gauntlet of renewing my railcard at Godalming Station (never an easy task, it seems). Hmm, maybe I'd best set out soon, even though there's still two-and-a-half hours before the train departs? You never know how long it will take ...

Today's nice things:

1. Leaving WW
2. Poetry
3. Submitting stories
4. Reaching the Big 6-0 in Hallsfoot.
5. Seeing Jane W.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website - unusually decisive for a Thursday ...

Writers, physio and visiting

Am feeling strangely inspired (it can’t last, obviously …) this week, so I actually wrote my first ever horror short story yesterday. Well, subtle horror, but horror nonetheless. No idea what I’m going to do with it, but hey at least it’s there. Lurking. And, talking of writing, here’s this morning’s bible poem:

Meditation 8

Fasten my robe
with pomegranates,
blue, purple, red.

Listen.

Place next to them
the golden bells
that sing of heaven.

Listen

So let me taste and hear
the coming salvation.

Listen.


Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the hot water is working again and Lord H and I both managed baths (hurrah!) though the heating is rather dodgy. Taking Andrea’s advice, we tried to locate the electrical immersion heater switch just in case the water goes off again. We eventually found it by means of a strong torch and lots of burrowing. However, when we turned it on, there was an ominous spark or two from the end of the wire nearest the heater so we swiftly turned it off. Hmm, sparks aren’t a good sign, I think … If the boiler breaks down again and we need hot water before the new system is installed, best stick to the kettles. And I suspect getting an electrician in and maybe a spot of serious rewiring might well be on next year’s agenda.

At work, I’ve got the University Writers’ Group at lunchtime today, so have taken two calming pills in order to prepare. I’m not a natural leader, as you can no doubt tell. Anyway, I’ve got a writing game they can do, so I hope that proves inspirational for them. It will also be fun looking at what manuscripts they might have brought in. UPDATE: it was great. Went really well and we looked at a lot of excellent manuscripts, plus played a speedy writing game which will double up as homework. Fabulous! Not only that but Mick has sold yet another of his short stories inspired by the homework I set (that makes three then!) to a literary magazine, so he's obviously on a major roll. Well done, Mick - very well deserved!

This afternoon, we’re having a brainstorming meeting about the changes to the personal tutors’ handbook – it’s a huge job which right now feels horrendously overwhelming (if worthwhile), but it would be great to get some of it started before the end of the year. I think that will make us all feel more positive about it. I hope.

Straight after that, I had to rush off to my physio appointment. After the weekend’s slight setback, my shoulder and arm now feel more normal than they’ve done for a while, so I’m hoping I’m on the upward slope. To somewhere. On the way home, I’ll pop in to see Gladys and restock that birdseed of hers. In this weather, the birds will definitely need it!

Oh, and I forgot to mention that on 20 November, it was the six-month anniversary of The Gifting being out with publishers via the agent without any response. Happy anniversary to Simon and Co then – I didn’t want you to disappear entirely from the systems of the powers that be without some sort of recognition. Hey ho.

Today’s nice things:

1. Writing my first horror story (well, yesterday, really)
2. Poetry
3. Writers’ Group
4. Mick's good news!
5. Physio.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website - occasionally proves inspirational ...

Diary mysteries, health appointments and writing issues

Goodness me, but it appears to have snowed in Guildford this morning. Horrors! I hate snow – it’s unnatural, you know, and this is not what I pay my taxes for and it’s certainly not why I live in Surrey. Surrey doesn’t do snow. Until now, dammit … The only good thing is that I don’t think it snowed in Godalming, though we did get a rather heavy frost. Anyway, it’s mostly now melted (thank the Lord), but I’m keeping a weather-eye (ho ho) on the forecast and looking suspicious … We never had this kind of weather under a Conservative government, after all. Not in the south.

Meanwhile, at work, I think the whole of the IT department are worrying away at the mysteries of why I can’t have access to the boss’s diary. We tried again this morning, and I now think it’s been referred to a higher power. Possibly God. Who, as we know, is unlikely to provide instantaneous answers to such matters. Sigh. All this is making it hugely difficult for me to get things into David’s schedule and rearrange appointments etc etc. If nothing happens by close-of-play, I shall have to invite him to meetings from my diary and hope he realises I’m not actually attending. Ah well.

I worked through lunch today as I had my follow-up appointment with the high-powered Consultant this afternoon. I have my list of questions in my hand, but I might not have to ask quite so much as I realised last night that my stitches have finally (after 3 weeks!) dissolved, hurrah. That’s a relief – I was starting to worry that I was fraying. I also think that my shoulder is slightly less numb than it has been, and there might even be signs of life in there. It’s certainly not back to normal, but maybe it’s on its way? Heck, there’s always hope. UPDATE: she’s pleased with how I’m doing, hurrah, though there are apparently still a couple of small stitches in the tummy button scar which I can't see but they should go soon. However, she’s doubling my Metformin dose to prevent the Return of the Cyst (great film title there, I feel …), and giving me a standby of the HRT patches in case the mood swings set in again – as my last one of the current pack runs out today (though I’m upping my HRT gel dosage to compensate – are you keeping up with this at the back??...). She’s also going to write to the GP and suggest that it would be a good idea for him to take on responsibility for the Metformin and patches prescriptions, so I’ll see what he says about that when I have my appointment with him in mid-November. Onward and upward, but slowly, eh.

On the way home, I need to pick up a parcel, which I’m hoping will be my double order of thermal wear for the Norfolk holiday, but could well be a supply of greetings cards I asked for. Ah, the excitement is mounting in either case, you know. Hmm, perhaps I should get out more? Then again, I don’t want to frighten people. Not so soon in the academic year. UPDATE - both have arrived, hurrah, so I can (a) be warm, and (b) write cards. My winter is sorted then.

I’m even thinking about doing a bit of writing (only thinking, mind you!), but I don’t want to overtire myself – after all, It Takes Two and Autumnwatch is on and there’s always tomorrow … And, talking about writing, I’ve decided to withdraw from my one remaining workshop group on the Writewords site and take down the three pieces of work I still had on there. I am slowly but surely minimalising all my commitments, you know, and soon I fear I’ll have vanished entirely. I’ll keep up my blog entries there as, to be honest, that’s all I can cope with for now. It just seems like the right thing to do. The site is now so intensely focused on nothing but success (and only a particular brand of success at that, in my opinion) that it’s hard for anyone else to exist at all on it. A shame, as it used to be so good. Ah well – commercialism gets us all in the end, dammit , and quality’s a rare and fragile beast. On the other hand, I’m probably just being a clapped-out, bitter old writer – but hey tell me something I didn’t know!...

And, finally (as they say), if anyone’s asking or has even read this far (well done, you!), I’m very impressed that the BBC has seen fit to suspend Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand and not broadcast their programmes for the time being – seems eminently reasonable to me, but I didn’t think the BBC would have the guts to do it. Well done, them. I’m hoping they’ll put the repeats of Fawlty Towers on in their place – now that’s class. UPDATE: That said, is Brand going over the top by resigning?? A decent public apology and a good offering of flowers, a la Ross, would have been perfectly acceptable. Indeed, Sachsgate rumbles on ... Still, at least it keeps our minds off the credit crunch.

Today’s nice things:

1. Parcels
2. Thinking about writing
3. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website - happy to apologise in advance ...

A day with the Egypt Group

Lord H and I have spent a truly wonderful day today with the Egypt Group, to whom Maloney's Law is dedicated. In fact I couldn't have written the scenes where Paul stays in the Cairo hotel without Mike & Miriam, as they'd stayed in the particular hotel I wanted to use, and Lord H & I hadn't so I needed to pick their brains. For which, thank you, both! We met Mike & Miriam, and Chris & Mike when we were on our Nile cruise about five years ago and we just clicked instantly. They're fantastic people and, even if we haven't seen them for a while, we just click back into instant ease the moment we meet. It's fabulous.

So we had a great day. We set out a little earlier than need be (it's about a two-hour trip to Mike & Miriam's, where we all met up) and visited the RSPB headquarters first, as it's not too far from them. We managed to spot several coal tits (coal tits, hurrah! - you don't see many of them about ...), a nuthatch and a mistle thrush, so a great start to the day. Lord H also bought a pair of lined birding gloves, even though he was really after a winter birding coat. Ah well, maybe if we buy enough gloves, we can make him a coat?

From there, it was straight to the Egypt Group reunion and we talked and ate, ate and talked all day and have only just now got home at about 9pm. Naturally I gave them all free copies of Maloney (hell, they deserve it), and it's great as they're soooo enthusiastic about the books and ask all sorts of questions about the writing process and what's going on, etc etc. It's really lovely to get that as, to be honest, most of my real-world (rather than the virtual world!) non-writing friends seem mainly to be embarrassed about what I do "off piste" and don't really like to talk about the books. The Egypt Gang buy (except for this one, naturally!) and read all my stuff, are keen to chat and want to know what's happening next. And when it will be published. It's really lovely. It makes me feel accepted. Maybe it's because most of the people I know knew me before I started writing and don't really know how to handle this strange turn of events? Whereas the Egypt Group have only known me as a writer and have fully taken it on board as part of me. Either way, somehow they make me feel good about what I do and I value that. Big time. No, more than that: big BIG time. Somehow as a group, they make me feel more than the sum of my parts and they give me hope. Actually, I think we all do that for each other, though I don't really know how - hope and a sense of possibilities enabled is a large part of the group dynamic and seeing them powers me up for days. Wonderful!

Back home, I've videoed Strictly Come Dancing though I probably won't get time to watch it till tomorrow. I've voted for Jodie anyway as I love her to bits. And I've just finished Issue Twenty of Brittle Star poetry magazine, which I've really enjoyed. Particular favourites are Paul Blake's "Fall" (a tragedy in miniature), Mike Bannister's "The Green Man" (full of Medieval-style power), the bleakness of Rosemary Dillon's "Journey", and the amused wistfulness of Sylvia Rowbottom's "The Big A". Great stuff. Inspired (in a fashion) by all this, I've attempted another poem. Gosh, how brave:

Domestic trivia

I think it’s true
that when we’re out
someone sneaks in,

adds their ironing
to the laundry basket
and picks it up again
when I’m done.

While they’re here,
they could at least
do the dusting.


Today's nice things:

1. The Egypt Group
2. Unexpected birds
3. Talking about writing
4. Brittle Star magazine
5. Poetry.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website - almost a real writer, you know!...

Getting to grips with the novel, a satisfying critique and hospital miscommunication

Have spent some of today attempting to get more to grip with Hallsfoot's Battle. Much to my relief, I've finally finished the scene with Johan's battle preparations that was giving me so much trauma. Thank the Lord. I think part of the problem for me is that the battle training scenes bring in a fresh supply of new characters as they can't all just be faceless Gathandrians - I have to give some of them a personality and a voice, otherwise the whole scene is dead in the water before it even sets sail. And to me, too many characters can be overwhelming - much as in my own life, I find it sooooo hard to deal with more than four or five people at once. Most of my novels have a very narrow stage with only a few people able to stand on it - that's how I work best and where I'm happiest. Even in The Gifting (of which more later), the character numbers aren't huge as most of that novel is a journey from one place to the other. Now in the second of the trilogy (trilogy - God help me!), they're staying in one place - and, worse, of necessity the novel is set in two countries - so the character numbers have to mount. Doubly. Help! All this makes me feel rather out of control and is giving me the heeby-jeebies, which is thus causing me to view Hallsfoot as a great, unwieldy solid mass of stone tumbling down on me from a great height. And I'm unable to jump out of the way. Lordy, what an exciting hobby writing is, eh ... Still, at least it's a chance to learn new ways of writing. Ho ho. Anyway, I'm now scraping in at 38,000 words and I've put some titles for additional scenes in the few blank pages ahead of where I'm at, so there's hope, Carruthers, hope. Possibly.

I was also hugely thrilled (if you can be hugely thrilled - you're probably either thrilled or you're not, really) by one item of today's post, which contained a very satisfying critique of my short story, "Connections", from the Winchester Writers' Conference. This meant such a lot as, originally, when I took the story to my former writers' group, they disliked it so much that when I'd finished reading it out, there was a terrible, terrible silence in which I felt utterly crushed. The silence was so long and so terrible that I was forced to break it myself and apologise for the tone and subject matter of the story. Dammit. Which brings me to the subject of writers' group etiquette: please, please, please, people - if you're ever giving verbal critique in a public setting, never let a silence of more than two seconds go by after the author has finished reading out. It's soul-destroying. When I was a member of the group, I always tried to say something positive once the reader had stopped, even if I hated the piece with my whole heart. It just breaks that terrible tension. Mind you - good comes out of bad, they say - and at least that experience confirmed my decision to leave the group and not to look for a replacement. Not that I'm saying that writers' groups are a bad idea - they're just not helpful for me, I think. I get my writing kicked more effectively into shape via online groups and professional criticism.

Anyway, here's the critique of the story:

"A very 'cool' and well-controlled account of a sexual encounter. I felt the extremely clear, focused and steady nature of the prose reinforced the slightly detached, almost meditative quality of the woman's retelling. This slightly distanced and objective feel adds considerably to the power of the story; the reader has the sense that the energies flowing through this encounter are part of the wider lives of these two people. The writer manages somehow to convey a strong sense that this encounter - in its urgency and inevitability - is part of a wider rhythm, a bigger picture. To make the reader look beyond this immediate scene into a wider context is a rare achievement."

Thank you, Mr/Mrs/Ms Adjudicator - that means a lot. Even though it wasn't placed in the competition (you can't win 'em all, you know!), it means a huge amount. Thank you.

However, in any day, there's good and bad, double dammit. I had a letter from the hospital today, which told me that as well as the laparoscopy and the ablation (thanks for all the notes about my appalling spelling, people, btw! - though I have to say I still prefer oblation ...!), the scary consultant also thinks I ought to have a hysteroscopy as well. Ye gods, at this rate, I shall be tied up with operations between now and Christmas. If I have any bits at all left by 2009, it will be a bloody miracle (buy my books now while I still have fingers to sign them with, hint hint ...!). I was also rather pissed off by the huge numbers of inaccuracies in the letter (which has also gone to my GP) so I sat down and typed out a two-sided reply correcting them all. Which I have posted to the hospital consultant, the Surrey Park Clinic consultant and to my GP. Honestly, I fear the scary hospital consultant didn't really listen to a word I was saying during that appointment (not that I was able to say very much at all, as there wasn't much space left for replies ...). Deep deep sigh ... Well, this time, I'm not bloody taking it lying down (as it were - though I suspect once they've got their instruments poking round in my essentials I will be lying down - and possibly regretting that letter too), and I want them to know my side of it. Plus I want my medical notes to be as near to the truth as possible, rather than a web of fanciful fiction. It would be nice to get a reply of some kind, and it would be nice to feel listened to in the middle of all this, but my family have in the past had horrendous dealings with the medical profession (after all it took years for them to work out that my father had diabetes - diagnosed at last by a locum on a week's holiday cover by the simple measure of sniffing the breath - and by then the poor bloke was all but dead anyway), so I'm not holding out much hope. Though, unlike my poor father, I have every intention of being alive after the doctors have had their way ...

Harrumph!

Anyway, after all that, I've had a much-needed nap. Bliss. Tonight, I might look at Hallsfoot a little more, and then there's Mock the Week and 8 out of 10 Cats on TV, hurrah. Talking of which, I am loving Lost in Austen, which I watched last night. Elliot Cowan is the best Mr Darcy I've seen. Hot stuff and sharp, focused characterisation - well done, sir! That first almost-kissing scene was far sexier than Colin F's wet shirt moment, and indeed better than Elliot's wet shirt moment. Here's a picture of the man, just to cheer us all up:



And here's a picture below of the man in character as Mr Darcy. Also cheery!



Ooh, and I've decided to make a daily total of the time spent waiting for The Gifting to get a reaction. Today I'll add in a few extra facts about the process of being a writer that you may not have realised - just for the fun of it, eh!:

Time since The Gifting submission to publishers: 3 months, 4 weeks and 1 day.
Number of responses: 0 out of 11
Number of times publishers have been reminded by agent: 1
Number of times author has been in tears about the process: 5
Number of times author has felt like crying: c20, but it's hard to be accurate here. It might be more - probably is, really.
Number of times author has felt remotely hopeful: 2.

Ah well, we struggle on in the silence, eh ...

Today's nice things:

1. Writing some of Hallsfoot
2. The story critique
3. Cowan's version of Mr D
4. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Minutes, heroes and the writing game

Managed to get the first draft of the minutes from yesterday’s meeting done this morning, so I am obviously cooking on gas in one aspect of life at least. Hurrah. Only wish the same could be said of my writing, which is rather fading into obscurity at the moment. If only I could drum up some enthusiasm from somewhere for the novel, eh, but I simply can’t. Ah well.

Still, at least we have this week’s heroes sorted in the office: they are (a) Bruce Parry, as Andrea likes him; (b) Carol’s husband for taking such a fabulous photo of a bridge built by; (c) Isambard Kingdom Brunel, whose bridges rock (according to the Dean); and (d) the new Chaplaincy flat and toilet, which are both wonderful and no-one dare use for fear of taking off the shine. As it were.

Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to sort out the furniture for next week’s Freshers’ SCS stall. I couldn’t find where it was supposed to have been stored, so sent various panicky emails out, hoping someone would enlighten me. Best to find out now before I arrive first thing on Monday morning and have nothing to sit on or set up on. Sigh. UPDATE: Apparently, all we need is stored in the post room which is called the store room and which isn’t the one they direct you to even though it’s the one they use for post. Aha – that’s why I couldn’t find it then!... Problem solved.

At lunchtime, I chaired the University Writers’ Group in its new venue – nice to get back together after the summer break and catch up with what’s been going on. And I made them play a quite challenging game and got some great writing out of it too, hurrah! I’ve even given it to them for homework (cue evil laughter …). Oh, that means I’ve got to do it too. Dammit.

This afternoon, I squeezed in time to have a Starbuck decaff cappuccino – ah bliss – and tonight I’m paying my respects to Mr Tesco after work, groan. From the sublime to the proverbial indeed. At least there’s the next episode of Mutual Friends on TV later.

Oh, and I’ve managed a rather strange piece of flash fiction, my first in a long time, I think. So I can do some writing then, even if not the novel ...

Woman on Top

Angelina knew that Brad hadn’t expected to have to climb up Beachy Head in the middle of the stormiest day of the year. Purely in order to gain her affections. But she always liked to offer her potential menfolk a challenge – it was what all the magazines told her to do.
Right now, she was inspecting her French manicure – freshly painted today – and trying to ignore the grunts, groans and muffled shrieks coming from the cliff. She assumed it was Brad. It must be. There wasn’t anyone else vying for her attention at the moment, so no reason for anyone apart from her intended to be there. Was there?
Surreptitiously, she flipped open her mobile, trying to keep both it and herself dry in the torrential rain, and pressed the familiar code for her best friend.
Georgina answered at once. ‘Has he proposed yet, darling?’
‘No, don’t be stupid,’ Angelina shouted back, hoping she could be heard at the other end, but not by her clifftop Casanova. ‘He’s still climbing. Mind you, if I don’t see any action soon, I’ll ring the Coastguard. I don’t want to seem unreasonable.’
‘Darling, you never do. Good luck.’
And, with that, Georgina disconnected the call. Angelina grimaced. She knew Georgina wasn’t really a girly chat kind of person, but even so she’d hoped for rather more. She had nothing else to do now on the top of this god-forsaken cliff apart from wait for Brad. She was already fed up with admiring the odd gull brave enough to venture into the wind or watching people fleeing down the path to safety.
With a sigh, she stepped a little closer to the cliff-edge.
‘Brad? Are you there?’ she yelled. ‘I’m getting cold up here – can’t you hurry it up?’
No answer. Damn it.
Crouching down and clutching her Armani scarf so the wind didn’t catch it, she crept nearer still to danger and shouted again. ‘Brad?’
The response wasn’t what she expected. Instead of seeing her handsome hero ready to plight his troth, a distinctly female arm reached out from the cliff and grabbed her scarf, pulling her towards the wild sea. A moment later, and a sharp push from behind sent the unfortunate Angelina hurtling over the edge and down to the unforgiving rocks below. Her screams were whipped away by the wind.
A few moments later, and the taciturn Georgina was being pulled to safety by the treacherous Brad.
‘Thank God you’re safe,’ he breathed in her ear as he held her at last in his arms.
‘Of course I am,’ she snorted. ‘Around here there’s only room for one woman on top.’

THE END


And I've finished Christopher Hill's biography of Cromwell, "God's Englishman". Very interesting stuff, though more political than I'd anticipated. It sets the man nicely in his age and setting, so a very useful book. I still prefer the more personal approach of Antonia Fraser's biography though.

Today’s nice things:

1. Getting draft one of the minutes done
2. This week’s heroes
3. University Writers
4. Starbucks coffee
5. TV
6. Flash fiction
7. Cromwell.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Golf, hair and holidays

Last day before our holiday today, hurrah! So I'd really better go and pack soon. For those of you keen on Norfolk, we'll be staying here for a few days. Shame it won't be that sunny though - indeed I'm packing for torrential rain. I fear lots of wet birdwatching days ahead - but what the hell, eh, it's a holiday and ye gods but I need the break. If only I can have five minutes of time and sunshine to sit in that glorious looking courtyard, then I will feel fulfilled.

Have had a good morning's golf today - my putting was shit-hot and I was getting the balls in when really I shouldn't have been. As it were. I was particularly proud of my long putt on the ninth which rattled in as if it was always meant to be and gave me a par. Ha! It makes it all worthwhile, you know.

Back home, the letter from the specialist has come, confirming what I already know, and asking my own doctor to refer me to the Royal Surrey. However, I was rather brightened by the fact that she doesn't think my non-standard cyst is likely to be "of any sinister pathology" (a turn of phrase I can only admire), so it will be interesting to see what they do think the bugger is. Once they've had a chance to have a good look at it of course. My bet is on my old school tie still. But at least it looks more hopeful now, thank the Lord. Talking of which, here's a poem I wrote yesterday when I was staring in the mirror and wondering which toothpaste to use, and which is very tongue-in-cheek - honest!

The cautious optimism of teeth

The medical profession
might be frowning
over the state
of my ovaries

but I continue to floss,
confident
that at the very least
I’ll die smiling.


In preparation for my holiday, I've also had a haircut and now look utterly amazing - Lynda is such a genius really. Shame it'll all fall apart when I wash my own hair tomorrow - as ever. For now I am attempting to keep my head as still as possible so Lord H can be wowed by the state of his wife when he comes home. As always, of course.

I have also been regretting the fact that I haven't been taking my Vitamin B depression pills - I must remember that just because I'm feeling okay doesn't mean to say I shouldn't take them! Why don't I ever learn that?? Groan. Anyway, I was cast into a fit of weeping this afternoon when I realised that the shit-hot short story that I think is one of the best and most literary I've ever written got precisely nowhere in a competition I just found out about today. Yes, yes, I know - this is normal and I shouldn't be making a song and dance about it, but quite honestly I felt truly gutted. Sometimes it feels as if you try and try sooooo bloody hard, you edit until your hair falls out, and you can't make what you've written any better - and still it's not bloody good enough. Really, writing can be the most soul-destroying job in the world sometimes. It's the only thing that can make you feel a complete failure within seconds. No matter how good past stuff has been. Sigh. Anyway, I managed to drag myself to the kitchen and take a Vitamin B pill, plus a De-Stress pill. Plus the last slice of chocolate orange cake. The combination seems to have helped a little, thank God ... But I'm still feeling fragile. A situation not helped by the fact that I think I'm coming down with another cold, bugger it. So I've taken a couple of Echinacea pills too. Hell, shake me and I'll rattle.

In the midst of all that, I've flung myself, gibbering like a loon, into Simon and Annyeke's story and now have c22,500 words of Hallsfoot's Battle under my belt. And that's where it'll stand for now, I think. Because I really do need to go and pack. And have some kind of a normal bloody life, ho ho.

And finally, the very enthusiastic and also delightful people at the Completely Novel website are celebrating their launch in October with a short story competition. Though, bearing in mind my last experience with short stories, I suspect I'll be happier if I don't enter. I have enough on my plate really. But still, it could be worth a look!

So, I hope you all have a lovely week and I'll catch up with you when I'm back on Friday!

Today's nice things:

1. Golf
2. Haircut
3. Writing
4. Holiday.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Minutes, meetings, meditations and Maloney

Managed to sort out the first draft of yesterday’s Steering Group meeting and some of what I said even made sense. Possibly. On top of that, I managed at last to circulate the minutes of the month before, which have been on hold as the poor boss is snowed under and scarcely able to breathe. They like to work us hard here at the educational coal-face. Anyway, the big complaint about the previous minutes was that apparently I’d changed fonts half-way through and hadn’t noticed. Well, I like to be creative, you know – but maybe it’s time for another sight test? Really, a Secretary is utterly past it when she can’t tell the difference between Arial and Times New Roman …

I’ve also had a very inspirational meeting with Jo from the Arts Office and Fiona and Marian from the new English with Creative Writing degree programme. Lots of exciting things happening here at the University for sure, and it was a pleasure to meet them and talk about writing and books we’ve read and those we haven’t. Heck, I could do that all day, if given the chance. We all love Murakami – naturally. We’re also planning to run the University Writers’ Group much more closely within the English department, which will be wonderful (thanks for that suggestion, Marian!), and hoping to have regular reading events from external authors throughout the year. Marvellous. And Marian even mentioned that she might well get a copy of A Dangerous Man for her holiday reading – thank you again, Marian, and I hope you enjoy the read!

This afternoon, I had a half-day holiday (hurrah!) and attended another meditation workshop run by the Diocesan Summer School. Great to have a period of calm in my day, plus we did meditation haikus, which was great. Fresh from this experience, I am determined to get to bed at a reasonable time and to make a brave attempt at making this a habit. Ho ho. All these late nights are making my eyes prickle – not a pretty sight, really.

And tonight, it’ll be more editing of The Bones of Summer – I’ve managed to scrabble up to the start of Chapter 22, so there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, Captain. One hopes. Mind you, I absolutely have to watch “Bonekickers” (or “Bonkers”, as the Radio Times are calling it) or my Trash TV fix will be way too low for the week. After the first episode, what on earth will they do for an encore?

Ooh, and Maloney’s Law in the States now has an actual rating after it, which was a pleasant five figures this morning, but is rapidly plummeting downwards as the day wears on and by the time you read this will probably be at least eight figures. And it has even more discounts on the price now, so a total bargain for such a shit-hot story indeed! Not only that, but Amazon UK have now got the skeleton information on, which you can find here. And I'm only £4.73 in the Mother Country, so - as always - as cheap as chips!

Today’s nice things:

1. Creative Writing meetings
2. The meditation workshop
3. Editing Bones
4. TV
5. Maloney’s new rating and an Amazon UK appearance.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website

Don't ask for trouble ...

A day in. When I haven't gone out at all, and I've only had a couple of quick phone conversations just rearranging appointments. Bliss. And there's an evening in tonight, so even more bliss. What more could you want?

Really enjoyed seeing Jane W last night, though was rather amused by her parting comments that the day's writing I was planning for today wasn't really like a proper job or hard work or anything. Hey, I wish! In an emotional sense, I imagine it's much like saying to a mountain climber about to tackle a mountain they haven't yet climbed: hey, enjoy the climb, and as you do it for fun then it's no great effort, is it? Ah well.

Not that I've written that much of Hallsfoot's Battle today, but I can see a bit more of the path I'm heading on at the moment and the mists are holding off. I'm at c10,300 words and about to hit a scene of potential danger and excitement. Hurrah! So, I might take a breather to try to summon up the energy for it. Or ferret ahead a little more tonight. We'll see.

I've also finished Liz Young's Asking for Trouble. Oh dear. My advice is: don't. The film based on the novel - "Something Borrowed" - is way better than this feeble chick-lit effort. In the film, the characters were sparky, the humour was top-notch, the romance very moving and the themes surprisingly grown-up. In the book, the characters are dull and ploddy, the humour strained, the romance unbelievable and the themes very childish. It's a constant source of astonishment that such drivel gets published at all, and anyway I'm sure chick-lit used to be better than this. In the days when I read it. Or have I just moved beyond the age of appreciating chick-lit and I now want something darker and punchier for my palate? But that can't be right - whatever my current tastes, the book is still bad! I have a far higher opinion of my reader than Liz Young does for sure. Anyway, I suggest you skip the book and just watch the film - which is something I never thought I'd say.

Meanwhile, back in the vaguely commercial arena (ho ho), it's been over one month since The Gifting began winging its way around all those yummy UK & US fantasy publishers, and the response so far has been .... zilch. I suspect that my agent is either too embarrassed to send it anywhere at all and is simply pretending he has done something with it, or he's too embarrassed to show me the hugely cutting responses begging him never to mention my name again. I'd bet on the second one of these two options, if I were you. Ho hum.

And our flat numbers - plus the mystical arrow - are back on the signs. Gosh! Though the neighbour's son is obviously traumatised by my comments on his grammar and spacing skills as the numbers 1 & 2 are now so far apart as to be almost in another county entirely. I think next time I will simply smile benignly and not indulge in any conversation. Probably the best way.

Today's nice things:

1. Staying in and not really communicating
2. Writing and climbing a bit further up the almost impossible mountain
3. Bitching about published books which are bad, bad, bad!

Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Goldenford Publishers

Mapping, coffee and the Big City

I have spent most of the day puzzling over what I’m supposed to be doing about the Personal Tutors’ Handbook – I suspect I am about to get into a managerial vortex from which there will be no escape. The boss has asked me to map out three different options for what the Handbook should look like. What??!? I have no real idea what that means, even though I smiled with enthusiasm when given the task (oh fool, fool!). And I suspect that, much like double-entry bookkeeping and the inner workings of the combustion engine, I never will have any idea what it means, no matter how much it’s explained to me. You see, I was off sick for the lesson in management-speak and I’ll never catch up now. Besides, there are some things that my head simply blanks out, possibly for the sake of its own intellectual survival. “Mapping” is, I feel, one of these. I also highly doubt that I’ll come up with three options – ye gods, I’ll be lucky to make a half-decent attempt at one. Sigh.

Still, onwards and upwards, as they say. Managed to sneak in a much-needed coffee with Sally from Advice at lunchtime – she was very close to Penny and it was good to talk about what’s happened, and the funeral arrangements and stuff. Also good to catch up with Sally of course.

And, worryingly, it appears that the new English Department at the University also want to have a chat with me concerning their plans for a Creative Writing course in their upcoming degree programme and how it relates to my informal University Writers’ Group. So that’s put the Fear of God in me; it feels as if I’m being summoned to the Headmistress’ (yes, I did go to a girls’ school – can you tell??) office in order to be told off for being a fraud and taking on things I shouldn’t when other people are far better qualified to run the Group. Yes, I know, I’m probably over-dramatising (surprise!), but heck you know me … They’re probably just going to be nice. That’ll take the wind out of my proverbials for sure.

Now for an update on Ruth’s radio plans for the campervan. Um, the radio doesn’t fit. Curses! Which just goes to show Halford’s don’t know what they’re talking about. As usual. The Ruth Clan are going to have to take it back to the shop for more advice and, in the meantime, carry on with the self-directed musicals … My recording option remains open.

Tonight, I’m off to London to see Jane W, so it’s certainly proving a highly social day. Heck, at least it’s with people I like! For some reason, I’m not even dreading the train journey there and back (which I usually do) – must be my age, ho ho. Perhaps I’ve gone beyond the Years Of Worry. As if …

Oh, and I’m feeling rather guilty as I bitched (in a jokey way, as women do …) to the neighbour’s daughter (a lovely woman I always have a laugh with) about her brother’s attempt at redoing the signs for the flats – partly because I was still feeling cross at his rudeness last week. And partly, to be fair, because I think they are rather strange. Actually she didn’t think they were very good either, so yesterday I came home and he’s painted over them all and – presumably – started again. At least, that’s what I imagine, as all we’re left with is a mystical arrow pointing upwards, with no text. Hmm, though perhaps that’s how he feels about us now. Or it could be that he’s decided to map us out of existence entirely. Ah well.

Today’s nice things:

1. Lunchtime coffee
2. A night out
3. Jokey bitching.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Goldenford Publishers

Getting through the day ...

Hmm, it’s a bit like that today. I am lying low, battening down the hatches and attempting not to react in too emotional a fashion to any outside stimulus. Good job I’m at work then, I suppose! In an attempt to counteract the ongoing gentle slide, I’ve doubled my HRT dose and will have to see if that works. I certainly felt a little better last night as I was going to bed, but didn’t really stay awake long enough to see if the feeling continued. Ah well.

This morning, all is strangely blank once more. Plus I’m feeling hugely vulnerable, so much so that today’s inner statement is probably more along the lines of: Yes, you’re probably right – I am rubbish. Sorry, girls. Lord H thinks I was roughly the same last month, so it’s obviously hormonal. Still, knowing the source doesn’t make it any more pleasant, I must say.

I was already feeling rather vulnerable anyway, from my unfortunate attempt to chat to the neighbour’s son in a friendly fashion last night. Well, I won’t be bothering with that again, I thought he was really rather rude. But I was feeling way too weak to fight back, so I just walked off. The idjit probably didn’t notice though – too obtuse. Or maybe he just has the conversational skills of a toad.

And this morning, I’ve chatted to the lovely girls in Catering about sorting out this lunchtime’s meeting – which isn’t one of mine, but I was trying to be supportive anyway. At the end, one of the girls who’d actually bought Thorn in the Flesh some time ago jokingly said she’d managed to sell it on eBay and had got tuppence for it. At least I think she was joking but really, who’s to say. Naturally, I laughed and said something light-hearted as I like her but, to be honest, this sort of thing is hugely more of a knock-back than people imagine. Especially from those who are supposed to be on your side. I’m beginning to think that indeed the minuses vastly outweigh the plusses in this business. As a result, I’m rapidly losing any kind of confidence I once had, and now even if people say how much they enjoy my books, I don’t actually comprehend it. And, looking at it logically, can you blame me? After all, when push comes to shove:

(a) I don’t sell more than 100 books or so of anything, and a significant proportion of these are really no more than gifts to people who don’t want to buy them.

(b) My agent never contacts me, even with bad news – whereas an online friend whose latest novel was sent out at roughly the same time as mine is already meeting the first of two publishers next week. I doubt I’ll hear anything now about The Gifting – in the same way I heard nothing about the Thorn submissions until after a year when I simply had to assume the agent had been unsuccessful. It’s that terrible silence which defeats me.

(c) Until recently, I’ve tried to drum up interest in my work on the Writewords site but I've been less and less successful there – evidently I’m not important enough in what is now a very competitive commercially-focused writing environment. I suspect that I may not last there until my August renewal, to be honest. Hell, even when I add a comment to a thread, nobody now responds. So I’ve given up trying. (That said, a huge thank you to the handful of lovely people who do buy my books from there – I really appreciate that support, but I think you’re a rare breed now!)

And these are only the latest complaints. Sigh! So, why bother? Honestly, I don’t know. I’m increasingly reminded of a former church acquaintance who once told me that he used to love playing golf but had given it up as it had become more of a hindrance than a joy. Food for thought indeed. I do certainly feel that the book business has well and truly defeated me. However, I know I’m cursed by bloody-mindedness: I’ve started Hallsfoot’s Battle so I’m determined to finish one day. But maybe as there’s no-one out there keen to take it, I should just write it when I feel like it. Can’t see that one coming along quickly then!

Hey ho. And I’m still at work, worrying about a meeting at lunchtime when I have to say something intelligent about the Personal Tutors’ handbook, when really I’d much rather not. I’m just not interested. And tonight it’s the Goldenford meeting. When at the moment the feeling is much the same. So it’s a question of getting through the day and doing a heck of a lot of pretending along the way. Double sigh. Best break out that Emergency Chocolate again …

Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Goldenford Publishers

In which I become middle-aged ...

Seemed to take forever to get up today. I wasn't actually ready to face any kind of world before 11am. By which time, Lord H thought it was probably too late to do a day's birdwatching (which was vaguely planned), so we went shopping in Guildford instead. Nice day for it, but an extraordinary lack of people. Perhaps they all decided they were too late for a decent day's shopping and are watching birds instead. It's a mystery.

Anyway, I revealed my true middle-aged credentials by buying a set of curtains from Debenhams for the living-room and a pair of slippers from M&S. Yes, I know I should probably be buying shorts and halter tops or whatever this year's summer fashion is (who on earth knows?), but frankly I can't be arsed. And the curtains are lovely - dark rich red with a darker bottom stripe and a toning top, and the slippers are purple with a gold pattern. I'm obviously in the middle of some kind of Surrey-style harem fetish. Hell, no wonder there's nobody in Guildford.

Back home, the effort of being out was just too much and I've spent most of the afternoon asleep or watching the Springwatch webcams. Every time I come back to them, there's one fewer greenfinch. And the remaining ones are teetering on the brink. Then again, aren't we all.

And, as you can see, sod all writing has been done. At the moment, it feels like I'm facing a mountain I'm not fully equipped to climb. Plus some bugger has stolen my oxygen tent. So the hope of reaching first camp any time soon is rapidly fading and, really, I'm simply lying on the lower slopes whimpering. Much like the greenfinch, I suppose.

Oh, and I'm avoiding bookshops, tales of writing success and the book review pages of the weekend paper - they all just depress me. In the meantime, Lord H is making inroads into the loft to try to sort out our water problems, and being super-quiet. Oh, and I've cleaned the car. About bloody time.

Tonight, it's "Dr Who", thank the Lord, and I think I might watch the programme about the Queen's wedding. Well, it's always good to heark back to times when things were more clear-cut now and again.

Today's nice things:

1. Curtains
2. Slippers
3. TV.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Goldenford Publishers

Reflexology, Maloney and the Dean’s trousers …

Not so bad at work today, for a Monday anyway. There’s been a queue a mile long (at least) outside our window for the Students’ Union end-of-term parties and they’re all very loud and excited about it. Can’t say I blame them! Though by the end of the morning, they were mostly all sorted and peace – of a kind – has descended.

The rather worrying thing about this morning though has been the discovery of the Dean’s trousers and jacket placed carefully over his chair in the office. Hmm, Andrea and I are now concerned that a naked Dean is wandering round the campus terrorising the students, but we are too afraid to go looking for him. That would be far more than the call of duty should expect, I feel. We can only hope that he did have something to change into …

Meanwhile, to calm my shattered nerves (dahlings, the heat, the concept of Monday, etc etc …), I rely on this lunchtime’s reflexology session. Where would I be without it? And the walk to and from the therapy centre was extremely pleasant too. Always good to have time to dream. And to think what the heck I’m going to write next. No decisions made yet though. I’m tempted by my dabblings into the comedy crime take-off story I started a while back, but then again I do like the dark side too. Ah, choices, choices.

Tonight, I will pop into see Gladys on my way home, and then I’m set in for the night carrying on with the edit for Maloney’s Law. I managed to get to the start of Chapter Six yesterday, so I’m hoping to have done at least another couple more chapters by the end of the evening. For the moment, my focus just has to be there. Funny how I always find the edit far more intensive than the actual writing of the thing, on the whole. And more thrilling too.

Oh and the Dean came back, fully-clothed thank the Lord. It’s a spare suit apparently. That’s saved the University’s blushes, for sure.

Today’s nice things:

1. Pondering on the Mystery of the Dean’s Trousers
2. Reflexology
3. Editing Maloney.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Goldenford Publishers

The view from the bottom

Lordy but it’s dark down here. Not sure why it’s happened now – maybe it’s just tiredness – but goodness me I feel low. To be honest, I’ve been pretty shaky all week, though I have been bravely fighting off the feeling by being super-positive and rather on the hyper side of hyper-jolly. And how exhausting that is too! Maybe I should up my Vitamin B pills to two a day instead of one? Hmm, that might work. Or perhaps more oestrogen gel is called for? Who can say? I realised things had become pretty bad this morning whilst driving into work – I was listening to the news which told us that vitamins might now be a Bad Thing as they might actually shorten life, and caught myself thinking well, in that case it’s not all bad news then. Hell, I may not particularly relish another 40 years of feeling low and wondering what the hell it’s all about, Alfie, but even I know that thinking like that and kind of meaning it isn’t terribly healthy. Sigh.

Talking of health, I’m helping out with the Health Awareness Fayre today (what an irony), so I have to put on my bright, professional and jolly (oh God, that word again!!) hat. Thank goodness I come from a long line of drama queens (on the male side) who could probably act for Britain, should the need arise. Roll on home time, eh.

In between all that, I am generally drooping around looking like Lydia Languish on a slow day and contemplating the wonderment of yet more of my fellow-writers succeeding in their endeavours. Is there a glut on, Carruthers? Have I missed the boat marked This Way for Success yet again, dammit?? Anyway, marvellous news for you all, and very well deserved indeed, but I remain utterly puzzled as to how people do it. Really, it takes me back to my teenage years when everyone else I knew (well, most people anyway – I was never in with the in-crowd, if I’d even known what the hell the in-crowd looked like) were getting boyfriends like it was easy (it isn’t), whereas I seemed to live most of my teens and early twenties in a bubble marked Not This Way, Chaps –if You Value Your Sanity. Thank God Lord H wasn’t wearing his glasses when he met me. I would have been a complete recluse otherwise. He must have missed the bubble. That same bubble which I suspect is still hanging round my neck and scaring off publishers now.

And I’m coming to some sort of realisation that it might always be like this. Not only that but, much like trying to fit into a church situation, attempting to play the commercial publishing game, at least in the UK, is not making me any happier. And I was a bit of a Marvin the Paranoid Android to start with! I’m wondering if it would be better for me if I eased down on the gas a little. As it were. It’s interesting that in some ways I’ve already started to do that, in small but significant decisions taken. I gave up my membership of the Society of Authors about eighteen months ago now. Possibly longer, I forget. I’m not resubscribing to the Poetry Society, I’m only going to Guildford Writers in general once a month rather than every fortnight, and I’m seriously considering giving up my membership of Writewords when it’s due for renewal in August. The latter partly as I think I’m becoming something of an irritant to them too, and Writewords itself (whilst being a very worthy site of course) is moving more towards being an organisation for commercially successful or up-and-coming writers, rather than a place where we’re all learning together; so the ethos has changed and, for me, it’s become more uncomfortable and way, way too competitive. Really, all these decisions were taken or are being taken as most of the organisations involved were, or are, beginning to cause me more pain than pleasure. And I don’t think that’s what writing should be about. Recently, I’ve also stopped submitting poems to magazines on a regular basis, and I don’t enter as many competitions as I used to. Frankly, I can’t get the energy up to do so, and neither can I see what the pay-off is. And I’m seriously fed-up – no, debilitated is more the word – by rejection. It’s not nice. It hits me in the gut every time it happens (which, as you know, is quite often!) and these days takes so much longer to recover from. Yes, I know that as writers we’re supposed to take rejection in our stride and continue “onwards and upwards” like mad elephants on the rampage – and I used to do that – but hell it’s not that easy. I wish to God it were, but it’s not.

On the plus side, I’m still writing the novel, and I’d like to finish it too. Though I’m unsure whether it’s one I’ll give to the agent or not, to be honest. We’ll see. I’ve done a couple of short stories recently, which has been a surprise. Although the reaction to that development has been mixed, to say the least. I might write another one, I might not. I can’t tell right now. And I’m doing the occasional poem, though even I feel it’s a bit up and down in that department. I do like writing and most reader reaction has been touchingly enthusiastic, but it’s the other stuff, the expectations, the failures and all that jazz, which take away the enjoyment of it.

So really, I can’t say that I’m hugely enjoying being in my forties, even though there have been very nice and good things which have happened in the last four years – though I gather from a recent newspaper article that this is par for the course. Nobody likes being in their forties. God, but they’re bloody right! I think I had a lot more hope in my thirties; and even though I personally feel I’m a better writer now, I have a lot less hope. Or perhaps more rather painful realism. I’m certainly doing a damn sight more thinking about what the next forty years will be like for sure, depending of course on the effect of those pesky life-threatening vitamins. Ah well.

Today’s nice things, um, arrgh …

1. Having a yoghurt bar at lunch
2. Not having to talk to many people this morning, as they’re all at meetings
3. An evening in.

Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Goldenford Publishers