The Growing Season

A blog post is germinating; it must be spring already. Eh?
I shall attempt to write it down shortly - but I warn you, I'm grumpy.

Another Hit!

It took until I actually read the letter to realise I'd sold another story. I didn't notice that the envelope had been addressed to my writing name, that the postmark was Dundee (home of D. C. Thomson), and that it contained one of my easily identifiable SAEs (neatly folded and returned, bless 'em).

So, as proof that my first sale was not a fluke, The People's Friend have asked to buy one too. Am terribly chuffed. They gave me great feedback with some early rejections, but I had failed to make any further progress, and had given up subbing to them. This was the first thing I'd sent them in over eighteen months.

I don't have a publication date, but you can be sure I'll let you know!

For information: they'd had the story since the middle of March, so if you are awaiting a reply from the Far North, have faith. Your sub is not down the back of the radiator just yet.

---

Thank you to everyone who has signed the Chambers petition (more links in the post below). If you've haven't yet indulged me by signing, please consider doing so. You'll be in good company; Ian Rankin (possibly even the real one) did today.

---

Just to complete my day, I have been retweeted by @TheXFactor (who have a following of nearly 42,000); but I shan't mention such popularist nonsense on this blog. You're all much too highbrow for that, aren't you?

Improving Slowly

Oh, it's been a slow week. Not because my little darlings are on half term (I love having them at home), but because I am still recovering from flu. It's been weeks now. And weak is the word. I've been trying to rake up all last autumn's leaves in the garden (not to mention the hedge cuttings) and I've been such a wimpy wet about the whole thing: you know, put-a-few-handfuls-on-the-bonfire-and-go-in-for-a-cup-of-tea, that sort of thing.

Anyway, have been writing - new novel and shorties. Have also been subbing more (this is particularly good), and now have nine shorties awaiting rejection. All this courtesy of the Reconstructed Man who gave me two mornings off this week. Very nice.

So you see, things have been getting better. And then, this morning dear readers, I logged on to DJ's blog to find I have been presented with a very grand award: Overall Winner. I'm not quite sure what this means, as others have been awarded first second third and so on, but I am very pleased with it. Here it is, for me to show off.

Have You Forgotten Something?

Do you ever get that feeling that you've left a half-finished cup of tea lying about somewhere? Or at a party, when you've put your glass down, moved away from it, and taken another glass? You never quite lose that feeling that there's something, somewhere, waiting for you.

I do it with shorties too. I think them up in my head during the school run (or whenever else I have no means of committing them to paper/silicon), and put them down somewhere while I wait for the chance to write them. I forget, of course, everything - the characters, the plot, the dialogue. The whole lot vanishes somewhere between thinking how brilliant it all is, and realising I can't remember a word. Just to make it worse, I never quite lose that feeling that I have forgotten something important. It is very erksome, and somewhat distressing.

Well, yesterday, I did it with chocolate. I put two squares of Dairy Milk down somewhere, and forgot where I left them. All afternoon and evening (school run, shopping trip, cooking, kids' bedtime, cinema) I could hear them calling (but not loudly enough for a positive location).

Well, having finally given up on them, I went to the fridge for some more, and you know what? There they were.

Some (admittedly, very small) part of my brain was actually working: I'd put the chocolate where the kids can't reach it, where it was sure not to melt, and where I'd be certain to find it again later.

If only I could be that clever with my missing shorties...

Return to Planet Real Life

Thanks, folks, for your nice emails and comments.

The main reason for my silence has been a massive website-redesign job (100 pages + 244 supporting files), which has occupied all but three of my evenings (7pm - midnight) for the last five weeks.

Of those three evenings off, I spent one critting a short story for Jane (remember 'short' in Jane's world equals a full-length novel for the rest of us). Another evening I spent in the pub, having completely freaked out after a too-long day of rain and grumpy children. The third evening I spent in the company of Harrison Ford (oh, and about three-hundred cinema-goers, sadly).

I have also boarded the loft in the quest for a room of my own (photos to follow), and written a shorty.

Now, I'm knackered, and I need a lie down. Excuse me. I'll be back again soon.

How do you Remember?

You know when that fantastic plot-line jumps into your brain? And you're not sitting in front of your computer/writing pad... How do you remember?

1. In the middle of the night:
a) get up, go to desk, and write/type the whole thing down, dialogue and all?
b) turn on the light, and make detailed notes in a moleskine*-by-the-bed?
c) fumble around in the dark for a pencil/pen/lippy and something to write on?
d) spend the next hour constructing complex associations until convinced that nothing will be forgotten, and then it all is.
*insert favourite brand of notebook here.

2. During the day:
a) keep a notepad and pen handy at all times.
b) have a dictaphone/mobile-with-voice-record.
c) carry a BlackBerry®/palm top into which everything can be typed on the spot (and wifi-ed to the computer at home)
d) Do nothing, it'll all be remembered/forgotten anyway.

Later:
a) Every detail is remembered/recorded.
b) Every detail is forgotten, other than it was a Really Fab Idea.

I'm a middle-of-the-night girl, with a notebook by the bed. What are you?

When the Muse Strikes...

Having raved about space pens, and their usefulness for writing on the back of one's hand in the middle of the night, I must now post a cautionary tale.

After thinking up a whole new shorty, whilst drifting off to sleep last night, I had to sit up and write myself a note. There being no Moleskine nearby (or paper of any sort), I had to resort to simply writing the title on my hand. Falling For Him it was called. I was somewhat surprised to see these very words splurged across my cheek when I looked in the mirror this morning. I guess I must have stuffed my hand under my face as I snuggled back down, and before the ink had dried...

Being a space pen, of course, it is capable of being used underwater and, thus, has waterproof ink:
IT DOESN'T COME OFF. No doubt the liberal application of turps would shift it, but I don't fancy rubbing that into my face. Oh well, it's all in the name of art, I suppose. I just hope it's gone by Monday!

The story, incidentally, would not suffer being relegated to the back of my hand, and proceeded to spill itself into my brain. In the end, I had to get up and write the bloody thing down. One thousand words poured out in under an hour. I read it through this morning, changed the odd word, and showed it to Jane, who pronounced it to be perfect. This afternoon, it has gone off to Woman's Weekly. Concept to post box, in under twenty-four hours. I'll rival Della Galton yet!