Flee Flea.

If there's one thing about warm weather that creeps me out it's the abundance of flies that suddenly appear. From small midge-like ones to the fat bluebottle, I hate them all. I mean what is it with them? They have the whole outdoors to do their dirty thing on so why invade my space? If they're not doing horrible things in the dog's food bowl, they're bashing their brains against the window pane or buzzing manically around my ceiling light.

Seems the only way to thwart them is to close all doors and windows or fit screens like I've seen in every American movie I've watched. That and to invest in industrial sized cans of fly killer.

Soon as I here the sound of fly hitting window pane I'm under the kitchen sink looking out the spray. The one I use is formulated especially for food premises and boy, is it fast. One spray and they drop like...well, like flies! From flight to stone dead in seconds. None of that noisy spinning on their back under the TV stand/behind the kettle nonsense! Don't you just hate that?

Why am I discussing the life and times of the bluebottle on here? Well, I'm writing a short story set in the fifties and needed to know when those sticky, ribbon fly papers were around. You remember the ones. My grandmother always had them pinned to the ceiling in her sitting room and kitchen. Used to give me the heebie-jeebies even as a child. Dozens of those little black bodies stuck fast, legs thrashing about till they gave up the fight and died. Eugh! My cousin, Colin, who was a bit older than me, used to wait till the adults were out of the room, then pull one off the ceiling and chase me with it.

I seem to recall that someone's budgie got stuck fast on the fly paper and had to have it's feathers trimmed to release it but I'm not sure whether that's true or not.

Oh, and remember the sweet mincemeat shortbread served up on school dinners? Dead fly pie the boys would chant. No wonder I can't look at a Garibaldi without shivering.

A Family Toot!

Tom, my daughter's partner has been awarded a police commendation for services to our local community. Here's Amy and Tom together in the grounds of Kelham Hall where the ceremony took place on Wednesday. And no, Tom isn't standing on a higher step than Amy - he's 6'4" and she's 5'2"!















And this one is of Tom (on the right) collecting his commendation. Well done, Tom, you deserved it!

Plagiarism

I was appalled to read on Teresa Ashby's blog about her experience of being plagiarised. No wonder she was so upset and who can blame her.

Writers have a hard enough time as it is without being victims of the cut and paste brigade who think it's okay to lift text word for word and pass it off as their own. Like Teresa and many others, writing isn't just a hobby for me. It's my living. And a very meagre one, at that. I'm nowhere near Teresa's league but I've worked hard to hone my skill and I'd be pretty cut up if someone put their name to that hard work - let alone took the fee for it! Teresa tells us that this particular woman had sent off many stories all of which then fell under suspicion as plagiarised work. Could one of them have been mine? I guess I'll never know.

Reading through the comments left on A Likely Story Teresa's not the only writer to have had her work attributed to someone else.

Of course, magazine editors do make mistakes from time to time. Despite what we sometimes think about them, they are only human. I'm not the only writer who's had work published without her knowledge. I only found out one of mine had appeared in an Australian mag when an Aus. writing friend spotted it and happened to send me a 'congrats' email. I realised immediately that I hadn't had an acceptance for this story so was able to check through my records and chase the editor for payment. In this instance it was a genuine mistake, but how may times had it happened before? Again, I'll never know.

It's got me thinking (for 'thinking' read 'paranoid'). Have I ever written something another writer thinks too similar to their work not to have been copied? I don't mean word for word, but of a similar theme? They may well have, but there's no copyright on ideas and aren't there only supposed to be 7 basic plots anyway? Or am I confusing that with how many hills make up Sheffield? Or was it Rome?

Every time I come up with a witty one-liner (well, what I think is witty!), a tantalising twist in the tale, or a quirky character trait, I have to convince myself it is my own work and I haven't subliminally soaked it up from something I've read. When I was editing my novel I was convinced I couldn't possibly have thought up 'that twist of plot' or 'that funny line'. I actually had to go page by page through the last few books I'd read to check I hadn't plagiarised the authors. I hadn't, thankfully. I put it down to a lack of confidence about my ability and from chatting to other writers, they've suffered similar moments.

You can read more on the subject of plagiarism here at How Publishing Really Works and here at Dear Author

Use Your Loaf

I spent yesterday working on a short story inspired by my own post about mum and toddler spaces in supermarket car parks. I got a first draft together quickly (too quickly in retrospect!)and posted it for my writing group to crit. It went down okay but the overwhelming feeling was that the clues I'd laid (it was a twist in the tale) were too subtle. A bit too 'off camera'. So I put it to one side to work on today and then DUR! I remembered my daughter's partner, Tom, is in security and thought he might be able to help me with research.

I texted him and yes, he's been a great help. In fact, I'd made some silly assumptions regarding police procedure following a pickpocketing. Note to self: Check your facts! A writer owes it to her reader to get the basics right!

I've almost re-written the thing now, but I'm still not convinced it's working. I'm hoping to target Take A Break with it (primarily because they're the best payers!) and really had my sights set on the weekly issue but now I'm going through the editing, I can see it needs more room for the plot to unfold. I reckon the finished story will come in around 1500-2000 which is far too long for the weekly issue, but it still may suit TAB's monthly Fiction Feast. And if it isn't suitable I can try a few other magazines...Woman's Weekly might go for it.

Anyway, as I've been mulling over it in my head, I baked a cheese and onion loaf.

First time I've done this recipe in the bread maker. Must make a note of the timings/heat settings so I can repeat the success.

Transport

Well, the new car arrived yesterday - a Zafira to replace the Renault Scenic. I loved that old Scenic. For a start, though it had manual transmission, it had an automatic brake which meant I didn't have to remember to apply it when I switched off the engine...always reassuring when parking up or down hill! It also had a push-button ignition - no twiddling with a large bunch of keys. I just had to remember to have the card reader thingy in my pocket or handbag and Robert's your mum's brother.

I knew I'd wander off topic but anyway - on the subject of keyrings...mine was given to me by my South African writing friend, Ginny, when she came over to the UK a few years back. It's made from twisted wire and orange beads in the shape of a gecko and I love it!
Dangling from this is another keyring containing a pic of my 4 kids, the car key (obviously), a front door house key, a back door house key, a key to the safe (presently empty in case you were thinking of mugging me), one rogue key I daren't throw away because I have no idea what if anything it opens, last but not least, my Tesco points card.
So it's pretty bulky as you can imagine. When the ignition key is inserted, the rest of the bunch swings precariously against my knee - because I'm short and have to practically sit on the dashboard to reach the pedals.

The Scenic also had a handy card recognition system which meant the vehicle would open its doors as I approached it. And no, I was never in fear of car-jackers taking off in it because without the card-reader with them the thing was immobilised.

So back to the new car - I drove it for the first time this morning...down the by-pass on my way to collect morning goods from the bakery. The gears were smooth, the pick-up equally so and the suspension seemed better than the Scenic.
Windscreen wipers took a bit of getting used to - sorting out the intermittent setting from the 'powerful enough to remove a stray bull elephant from the windscreen'. The latter useful on safari tours.

Oh, and the traffic update caught me by surprise. There I was dawdling along when a Radio Lincs traffic warning thundered into my peaceful bubble and I almost crashed into the central reservation! But once I get these little niggles sorted and my fluffy cat sitting on the dashboard, my Bagpuss air freshener and my lucky Bob The Builder in place, I'm sure I'll come to love it just as much as the old car.

Why the soft toys? So I can park in the mother and toddler spaces with impunity, of course. An MPV with various soft toys scattered around it must belong to a harassed mum of six! No, don't boo! I brought up 4 kids way, way before the invention of supermarket trolleys with baby seats, mum and toddler parking spaces etc. I'M OWED!! Though, in all fairness, I'll soon qualify for a disabled/senior citizen space...

Rejection & St Swithin's Day

Two rejections in my in box this morning both from the same mag. Unusually, the editor has given a reason - too short. I just checked and the guidelines I'm going by have them at the correct length so maybe their requirements have changed recently. Thing is with this sort of rejection, I'm left wondering whether I should re-submit at the correct word length. But then again, she'd have said as much, wouldn't she? Hey-ho. I don't think I'll bother and the stories in question have both sold in 4 countries each under different guises so no real loss there.

I must get some serious writing done in the next few weeks as my output has dropped massively from what it used to be. I also need the dosh - a good reason for getting down to it!

I fancy trying another crime/thriller. Mainly because they tend to write to a higher word length - well, mine do, anyways. I'd like to target Take A Break some more too. There was a time I'd make it into every monthly Fiction Feast - not so these days. It's entirely my own fault. I've let other things get in the way. The day job for instance. Himself owns a butchers/bakery shop and I've def spent more time this past year filling in for staff absences/holidays or just generally catching up on making BBQ stuff. Ha! Consdering the downpour we have here, there won't be many BBQ's lit today. Nor for the foreseeable weekend as it's forecast rain and more rain.

Did you know today is St Swithin's Day? Do you recall this Elizabethan rhyme?

'St. Swithin's day if thou dost rain
For forty days it will remain
St. Swithin's day if thou be fair
For forty days 'twill rain nae mair.'

According to projectbritain.com :

Legend has it that as the Saxon Bishop of Wincester lay on his deathbed, he asked to be buried out of doors, where he would be trodden on and rained on. For nine years, his wishes were followed, but then, the monks of Winchester attempted to remove his remains to a splendid shrine inside the cathedral on 15 July 971. According to legend there was a heavy rain storm either during the ceremony or on its anniversary.

And so the old wive's tale was born that if it rains on St Swithin's Day (July 15th), it will rain for the next 40 days in succession, and a fine 15th July will be followed by 40 days of fine weather.

However, according to the Met Office, it's nothing other than a myth - well they would say that. Anyway, it's been put to the test on 55 occasions*, when it has been wet on St Swithin's Day and 40 days of rain did not follow.

* source: the book entitled 'Red Sky At Night'

As writers we should be aware of such events and use them to our advantage by incorporating them into our stories. Says me who didn't know what day it was until that nice weather girl mentioned it this morning on GMTV! So I'm making a note right now on my 'story calendar'. Next year I'll have a St Swithin's story pubbed - watch this space (but not too closely)!

Pam escapes from the cupboard under the stairs

That annoying Witholding Tax

Many thanks to HappyWriter who has taken the time and trouble to call the tax office over the annoying business of non-Aus writers having witholding tax deducted from our fees. Here is what she has to say:

If an Australian doesn't supply an ABN number they will have around 46% in tax taken out. Australians can solve this by either getting an ABN number (if they consider themselves a business not hobby)or giving a Statement by Supplier form and ticking the reason they are not supplying an ABN.

For Foreign residents, if you do not supply an ABN number theoretically 10% withholding would be taken out HOWEVER, all you have to do is supply the Statement By Supplier Form, tick the reason you are not supplying an ABN (*the supplier is not entitled to an ABN as they are not carrying on an enterprise in Australia*) and NO TAX should be taken out - at all.

This is the second time I have been given the same advice, and tax office said that if anyone is still taking out tax after they have received your Statement by Supplier Form, then get them to contact the tax office.

The issue is only different if we are talking about, interest, dividends, ROYALTIES, construction, casinos and other specific businesses.

Fact

Did you know a man who has a fondness for nibbling women's ears is called a gynotikolobomassophile?

I'm assuming it's meant to describe someone who nibbles indiscriminately? As in, a man who'd run up to a female whilst she's queuing for a bus, say, and go straight for the lobes without so much as an introduction? But surely that's assault? So he's most likely a bit of a yob as well as a gynotiko-whatsit.

Suppose our man is a gentleman, an upstanding citizen...he'd ask permission first, wouldn't he? Not so much assault then, as a romantic gesture? Well, no not really. It'd be rather like a flasher asking politely if one would mind if he exposed his dangly bits.

How the heck did I get here? I know I began with doing research on a short story but...

Readers' Letters

You may be a published author with lots of articles and fiction to your credit but don't turn your nose up at sending off readers' letters to the magazines.

If you're stuck on constructing a novel chapter or a short fiction piece, leave it aside and write a letter instead. They're easy to put together - try to find a good quality photograph to accompany it if you can - and are a better way of filling those brain-foggy moments than playing Spider Solitaire (which is what I tend to do when I'm stuck on something!).

As with fiction, get a feel for the content of the mag before sending anything, though there seems to be little restriction on what they take. Keep your letter short, up-beat and interesting. I've recently sent a couple off - yes, you guessed, it's about my recent holiday!

The fee is generally around £25 for each letter printed with £50 for the 'Star Letter'. Some mags will award a bonus prize, too. The turn around time tends to be much quicker than waiting for accepted fiction to appear. So, go on, have a go.

Little Face

Like most people I like to pack a few paperbacks to take on holiday. Often I don't have time to open them but this last break was all about R&R so I took 4 with me. One of these was borrowed from my daughter, Amy. She'd purchased 3 by Sophie Hannah from her work's book club. I'll be honest, I'd never heard of SH but the blurb of Little Face really intrigued me so it was the one I delved into on my first day by the pool.


When Alice Fancourt returns home after having been out for the first time without her two-week-old daughter Florence, she insists that the baby she finds at home, in the care of her husband David, is not their daughter but a child she has never seen before. David denies it, claiming that the baby is Florence and that Alice has gone mad. Is she crazy, or is David lying, and if so, why would he do such a thing? And where is the real Florence? Alice has no proof, but she needs the police to believe her, and quickly. While they wait for the DNA test that will settle the matter, valuable time is being lost, and David’s behaviour towards Alice becomes increasingly threatening and sinister. Can Alice make the police listen to her before it's too late?

There aren't many books I can't put down (and I read an awful lot!) but this one had me hooked from the beginning. What I liked the most was that Sophie kept the tension going throughout. There weren't any 'dips' where I felt I had to speed read chunks to get through any boring bits.

It wasn't until I checked on Amazon today that I see this novel has very mixed reviews (don't they all!?)ranging from 'Enthralling' and 'Gifted' to 'Abysmal writing' and 'Disappointing ending'. Had I read the reviews beforehand it wouldn't have put me off. Each to their own etc., but how anyone can call the writing abysmal is beyond me. I thought it flowed wonderfully.
Alice's husband's horrid behaviour - especially the bathroom and food scenes were very well done.

Okay, the ending was a teensy bit weird. I suppose I was expecting something spectacular as the explanation to the baby's disappearance (won't give too much away here or it'll spoil it for you if you wish to read it and I hope you will) and maybe what I got was rather mundane but in retrospect it made it all the more believable.

I'll def be reading more of Sophie's books.

Dough and, um, dough.

I started making my own bread just before last Christmas. Bit daft considering we run a shop that sells the stuff ready baked but I like being able to bake a fresh loaf when I please. When I say 'I bake', what I mean is I buy the packet mix that has the yeast already in it. I just add tepid water and any flavourings I want.

My favourite is a focaccia mix to which I add rosemary (from the garden), loads of olive oil, garlic, sun-dried tomatoes and/or black olives...and more olive oil! Goes down well at BBQs. Plus, it freezes well, too.

Going off at a tangent...What I was saying in my other post about emptying the suitcases, I see we have some Egyptian pounds left over from our spends. I think 100 Egyptian is around 10 quid sterling. We didn't realise till we got to Egypt that they don't like their own currency (something to do with exchange rates). No, they prefer the Euro or US dollars which can be a bit confusing when you pay for something in EGP that is marked in USD or EURO and you get back change in sterling.

Oh and while I'm on the subject, Himself bought an English newspaper while we were out there and it wasn't till he was putting the change back in his wallet that he realised he'd been 'had'! His own fault really, he'd given the man USD instead of EGP and we worked out that copy of the Daily Express cost us around £10!

Anyway, I digress. The reason I mention the left-over spending money and moreover what that has to do with baking bread...I've been out this morning and bought an automatic bread maker with the left-over spends - Netto £49.99. I've got a whole grain loaf in at the moment. Smells delicious, takes half the time of kneading by hand but to be honest not nearly as satisfying. The kitchen worktop (and me for that matter) doesn't have a spot of flour on it and there aren't jugs and spatulas to wash up but now I realise that was half the fun. Ah well, at least I can set the timer to prepare the dough while we're asleep so we wake up to fresh baked bread of a morning. That def beats getting up at 6 to do it...not that I ever did!

PS Baked this on Sunday

What a relief to finally get to the bottom of the suitcases - instead of just dumping all our holiday clothes in front of the washing machine, this time, I've left them in the cases, taking out one wash load at a time. This way I'm kidding myself there isn't THAT much dirty washing or (worse) THAT much ironing to do.

But now I'm looking at freshly dried sundresses,shorts and T-shirts piled over the banister awaiting introduction to the iron and my heart sinks. But wait, will there be many more hot days left this summer on which to wear them? Probably not. So can I get away with banging them on hangers un-ironed? Come next holiday I'll only run them through the washer again anyway 'to freshen them up', so what's the point in doing it twice? And I'd be saving electricity and hence the planet by not ironing them, wouldn't I? And it'll free up the time for me to get some writing done. That's it then. My conscience is clear.

I forgot to say...

...the holiday was great. 44 degrees most days so I stayed under a parasol smothered in industrial strength suncream. I'd have come back paler than I went were it not for the prickly heat rash on my body and an allergic reaction to said suncream that has made my face swell so I resemble a greedy hamster.

That aside, we saw some amazing sights. The sea-life is spectacular. Like a screen shot from Finding Nemo.

We went into the eastern desert by jeep where Himself went off on a quad bike while I explored the Bedouin camp where we were to take supper later that evening. I rode a camel which I have to say was scary - they seem so tall from the saddle! A nice Frenchman riding beside me said I looked a bit tense and went on to assure me that they can only gallop at 60 miles and hour and they can only keep that up for about 5 miles. What?!

We climbed a mountain (well a very high sand dune - think quarry pit kind of thing)and watched the sun set over the desert. Very surreal and so quiet.

The supper - we'd decided to decline (health grounds you understand and the fact that we'd watched the women making the bread!)but by the time they served it up we were so hungry we'd have eaten a scabby camel. And you know what? It was DELICIOUS! There was chicken, a green bean stew of some sort, er another stew, a sesame/vinigrette dressing, sausages, fresh salad, and all washed down with cola, with watermelon to finish. And no Mummy's Revenge the next day! Yum!

Then the entertainment - the Bedoiun children and adults did a dance for us - a bit like Morris dancing with knives. Then there was a belly dancer, a whirling dervish and finally a man on a stallion which I have to say looked distinctly unhappy - the horse not the man. And as we were sitting at hoof level, was a bit un-nerving as the rider attepted to keep his mount under control.

As it grew dark, the camp lights were extinguished and we then took turns to look through a telescope at the night sky. Have to say was a bit unimpressed as all I could see was this bright light...possibly the moon, dunno?!

And here's a pic of me with two gorgeous Bedouin children.

It's a Man's World

I've been back home for two days and have spent most of that time on the phone to various companies regarding our car insurance renewal because Himself has gone back to work and doesn't have the time. Like I do?!

Anyway, normally it's straight forward i.e. if we get a similar quote to the previous year, we just go with it. Yes, I could search on-line but have you ever tried using those comparison websites? The ones where you fill in your details (just the once as the adverts tell us) then seconds later the PC crashes as the quotes come on screen meaning you have to start from scratch again!

Thing is, I have a few little problems this time around as the present car's insurance expires on the 11th of this month but it's due to go back to the lease company on the 17th so basically we only need a week's insurance. Add to that the fact that the new car is delivered on the 14th and...well you get my drift.

The first quote offered was massively more expensive than anticipated so the kind person said they'd transfer me to another company...and they, in turn, transferred me to another...and then another...and then another...

Until, eventually I'm talking to someone called 'Bri' at NATO HQ. At least, by his over-use of the phonetic alphabet, the guy fancies himself to be on military manoeuvres rather than sitting in a call centre in Coventry. But he's confident he can help me so I stick with it.

'Kilo-Mike-zero-niner-Oscar Juliette-Foxtrot,' he sings down the line. 'Is that affirmative?'

......HUH?

'Your new registration number, madam?'

'Oh, um, yes.'

'And your postcode?'I tell him and he comes back with,'Sierra-eight-zero-niner-Lima-Papa. And your surname...how are you spelling it? Hotel-Oscar-romeo-tango-alpha-November?'

By this time I'm right there with him, fighting off the insurgents. Combat trousers, flack-jacket, the lot.'No, it's H-o-u-g-h-t-o-n,' I say.

A five second delay, then, 'That's H for...'

Harry Potter? Herpes? Hell, life's too short for this c**p, and I hung up.

5 mins later I'm back with the company I should've called in the first place, gratefully signing up for over-priced insurance but hey, the woman on the end of the line is called Vanessa and we had a nice chat about my holiday and guess what? Her sister's got the same car as ours except in the metallic bronze colour. She's not sure what it's called but it matches her Mischa Barton handbag.

No, of course she didn't say that...the bag was from Primark.

Hasta la vista!

I'm off on my hols in the early hours of tomorrow morning, so I'm signing off now or I wont have time to pack the suitcases! We're going to Marsa Alam, Red Sea, Egypt for a week's snorkeling and swimming with the fishies.
Okay, truth is we'll probably slob out on the beach with a good book and a rum & coke!
Happy writing and I'll see you when I get back.

Where do your ideas spring from?

Like most writers I'm forever being asked, 'Where do you get your ideas?' 'From everywhere,' I'll reply, which, often as not, is greeted with a blank stare. I assume what they'd really like to hear is something on the lines of 'Oh, I have this machine in the back bedroom that pops out ideas if I feed it pound coins.'

Well, I don't have such a machine. My writing style is fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type. An idea pops into my head as a scene or a bit of dialogue and that generates lots of questions which, in all probability, I won't even jot down. Yes, I know all the advice about keeping a notepad to hand and I do have dozens ranging from Moleskines to Wilko's jotters scattered around the house, but I'm always convinced I'll remember an idea...which I rarely do, so yes, the advice is right blah, blah.

Anyway, if I do remember it by the time I sit in front of the computer, I'll start to write it up and if the Muse Fairy is with me, a tale will evolve.

The last story I submitted (and sold) the other week, came in exactly this way. I was doing the washing up when the song Love Hurts by the Everly Brothers came on the radio. Remember that one?

Love hurts, love scars
Love wounds, and mars any heart
Not tough or Strong enough
To take a lot of pain, take a lot of pain
Love is like a cloud, holds a lot of rain
Love hurts......ooh, ooh love hurts


The brain cells fired up. The questions started coming.

Q. What else is as painful as a broken heart?
A. A broken leg? A broken tooth? Yes, the latter sounded right.

Q. Who's got a broken tooth?
A. Let's make it a man.

Q. Why?
A. Because men would make a drama out of it and I can ring more humour out of that! Women's mag editors are always on the lookout for humorous stories.

Q. How did my man break his tooth? I'm calling him Rob by this time..
A. He's showing off by taking the cap off a bottle of beer with his teeth - a party trick he was good at in his younger days.

Q Who's he showing off to?
A. The new and much younger, sexy neighbour. I named her Claudia because it sounds blonde and girly.

Q. Why is Rob showing off? He has a loving wife doesn't he? And she's called Kath, I decided.
A. Rob's having a mid-life crisis, what else?

It was at this point I sat down to begin putting it all together. By the time I had my characters 'talking' to each other and I understood them, the rest of the story wrote itself. The resolution came easily and with a twist at the end, which if you want to know, you'll have to wait until it's published!

PS - In case you were wondering, this is what a Muse Fairy looks like

Seen Reading

Taken from the Seen Reading website:

Julie Wilson is the creator and author of the literary voyeurism blog, Seen Reading. She has appeared on CBC Radio’s “Here and Now” to discuss the reading habits of Torontonians.
Here's what she says:

What is Seen Reading?

1.I see you reading.
2.I remember what page you’re on in the book.
3.I head to the bookstore, and make a note of the text.
4.I let my imagination rip.
5.Readers become celebrities.
6.People get giddy and buy more books.

Interesting, huh?

Don't know about you but I also have a quick nosey at what others are reading when I'm out and about. Especially on holiday. Love to see what people have in their beach bags.

Talking of holidays, I went into Tesco's this afternoon for a few last minute holiday essentials - you know the sort of thing: Antidote for snake venom, mini fan combined with a handy torch(?!), sewing kit...all the stuff you very rarely need but take 'in case' - anyway, while passing the paperback shelves I noticed most of the best-sellers had been picked over leaving only a few dog-eared thrillers and a few oldies re-issued with new covers.

But, wait a minute...there was one chick-lit lurking behind an Ian Rankin - Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic Abroad. Perfect beach read. So I nabbed it. I'll also be taking along Paul O'Grady's autobiography, At My Mother's Knee, and Take A Break's summer puzzle book.

And I just remembered...while in Rhodes year before last, I was stretched out on a sun lounger taking in the rays, when a woman yelled that I should take a look in my beach bag. The way she was panicking I thought maybe a scorpion (do they have them in Rhodes?) had crept inside. But no, it was only one of the island's cats curled up for a snooze.

Hasta La Vista

I'll be catching an early flight tomorrow morning. Meanwhile here's a joke, I'm posting in response to negative remarks about where I've chosen to holiday this year - not that we're going to Rome, we're off to Marsa Alam, Red Sea coast, but you get the idea!

A woman was at her hairdresser's getting her hair styled for a trip to Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded:
“Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It's crowded and dirty. You're crazy to go to Rome. So,how are you getting there?”
“We're going Thomas Cook,” was the reply. “We got a great rate.”
“Thomas Cook?” exclaimed the hairdresser. “That’s a terrible airline. Their flight attendants are ugly, and they're always late. So, where are you staying in Rome?”
“We'll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome 's Tiber River called Teste.”
“Don't go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks it’s going to be something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump.”
“We're going to go to see the Vatican and maybe get to see the Pope.”
“That's rich,” laughed the hairdresser. “You and a million other people. He'll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You're going to need it."
A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome .
“It was wonderful,” said the woman. “Not only were we on time in one of Thomas Cook’s brand new planes, but it was overbooked, and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot. And the hotel was great! They'd just finished a £5 million re-modelling job, and now it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner's suite at no extra charge!"
“That's all well and good," muttered the hairdresser. "But I bet you didn't get to see the Pope.”
“Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican , a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained that the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me."
“Oh, really! What'd he say?”
He said: “ Oh, goodness me, my dear, whoever messed up your hair?"

Don't get hung up about it

Any excuse not to write!



Ever suffered writer's block? I know I have. I've got it now.
There're a number of websites giving advice on how to get over it. Some writers don't believe it exists...lucky them, is all I can say. I even spouted about how to get over it on my own blog back in 2006. A lot has happened since then and these days when it strikes I simply close the laptop lid, go shopping, walk the dog, bake a cake, get out the ironing board - actually scratch that last one, I suffer ironer's block on a grand scale!

I used to get hung up about this 'orrid brain fog that strikes out the blue because, after all, selling short stories is my main source of income. If I don't write, I can't submit and hence make a sale. Experience shows I need to have at least 30 - 40 pieces of work out there at any one time to keep the turnover of acceptances at a decent level. I just checked and I have around 25 submissions with editors at the moment. That's way down on what it should be. So what to do about it? Well, here's what I won't do...

Firstly, I won't beat myself up about it like I used to do. So what if I haven't written anything new in ages? It doesn't mean I'm lazy and telling myself I'm useless or have lost my Mojo wont help either. I'm my own boss and as such I can award myself a little break can't I?

I won't try setting myself goals. Write anything that comes to mind, was my advice, Free writing it's called. 500 words a day - doesn't matter if it's rubbish. Well, it does matter and if I'm honest, it always did. See, what if I can't make the 500 words? I'll resent it even more. Which brings me on to the main thing I won't do...

I WON'T QUIT! I'll give in to all those distractions knowing that the next thing I do write will be worth waiting for. It will sell first time out. Oh yes, it will!