Reasons To Be Cheerful

Ooops - sorry. I've been a Bad Blogger again - but I've just been completely overwhelmed by the amount of stuff that had accumulated during my illness and the computer's absence. Not least by three backlogged emails from my publisher saying a)they expect Moonshine to be delivered by the end of January latest, b) they've booked Moonshine's copy editing for early Feb and c) Moonshine is going into production in mid-Feb.

Now this all sounds very efficient and encouraging - but when you're the one writing Moonshine and it's now mid-January and you've only done 5 chapters...

See my problem????

So - I'm writing like stink to try and do it. No, I know and you know it's not possible, but I'm not going to admit that yet. Not to myself and certainly not to my publishers... Yes, I've told them that because I've lost over a month's writing time that I'm miles behind but that doesn't seem to be a good enough reason...

So, I've set myself a sort of manic target - like, if I write two chapters a day I might just do it. Hah! Or, maybe if I write at least 7,000 words a day, every day, I might be close. Double hah! Or, perhaps, if I live on Red Bull and other stimulants and give up sleeping and eating and any sort of life at all and just sit here and type, it might just turn into a finished 100,000 word book in two weeks... hah-de-hah-de-hah!!!

Anyway - to alleviate the panic about the deadline and my lack of book - I've been thinking about the things that are currently making me cheerful (glass half full every time!).

First is the reason for the pic - hot water bottles! Pure bliss in this freezing winter - we were down to minus 12 the other night and they're forecasting snow again next week. So, The Toyboy Trucker and I have reverted to childhood - wrapping the PJs round the bottles before bedtime, then snuggling into the warm hollow and having the bottles on our feet. The cats love them too. So much pleasure for absolutely no financial outlay!

And I feel so much better. It's great to feel well again after so many weeks of being ill.

Then there's my PLR statement - and the money to be paid in early Feb. Oh, thank the lord for PLR. This year it's absolutely BRILLIANT and I'm not even thinking that most of it will probably have to pay the January tax bill (a bit of a downer, always having to pay the tax bill on a good year's earnings from money in a year when I've earned sod all - and no, I don't put any away for the tax bill as you're supposed to. Are you kidding? I have to live on every penny I earn...) - it's still a lovely wodge of cash and something my poor bank account hasn't seen for MONTHS. And it means that however bad the book sales seem to be, lots of people borrow my books from libraries which means they DO like them and I DO have readers out there. Sadly, my PLR earnings and the payments from my magazine work currently make up a much larger chunk of my writing income than the books... Maybe next year this will all change???

Next, it's only 12 weeks until The Wedding!!! We're all so excited - and Elle has her final fitting of the gorgeous, fantabulous Ian Stuart dress at the end of Jan and I shall be awash... And having now lost the December 5lbs and some more, I now have 12 weeks to lose 11lbs to be able to fit into the m-o-t-b frock - and I honestly think I can do that!!! Oh, and as I've lived in the red satin killer heels indoors ever since I bought them (they look fab with my PJs - vbg) I'm getting used to them and don't even wobble on them now...

Then there's the weather - I LOVE cold weather (sorry Debs) - and have taken every opportunity to do my walking in snow showers and freezing fog and frost - and it's cheered me up no end. And it's lovely to come home all glowing... And I can wear my beloved ancient collection of woolly hats (mostly berets in bright colours with sparkly bits on them) and fluffy scarves - none of these have seen the light of day for ages because of the recent mild winters...

And yesterday, while rooting around in our local clothes shop (they're having a massive sale and I'm ever hopeful) I found some real linen sun dresses reduced from £40 to - wait for it - £1!!!! £1!!!! I bought 4 (one in each colour)! I've never bought four dresses in one go - and they fit like a dream and skim my lumpy bits and look wonderfully expensive... Can't wait for the fabulous summer we've been promised to show them off (Debs, you've been warned!)...

And finally - the Toyboy Trucker's firm cancelled their Christmas dinner-dance party because everyone had various bugs and lurgies and they're now having it in a couple of weeks time instead, but because it's after Christmas and everywhere is offering really cheap prices, they're going to put us all up in a 5-star hotel as well - so, I'll get to wear a posh frock and swan about in luxury and forget about being broke and depressed about Moonshine (even if it is only for one night)...

So - I'm happy. No, I am, honestly. And now I'm going back to chapter 6 of Moonshine while chanting "I can do this.. I can do this... I can do this..."

Rumours of My Death...

... have been greatly exaggerated - although my prolonged enforced blog silence has been because both the computer and I have been bed-ridden for most of December. The computer was in hospital (released today - fully recovered - yay! I can work again!!!) - and fortunately I managed (just) to avoid hospitalisation this time... My Epstein-Barr seems to choose the most inconvenient moments to chuck up a few sneaky viruses - but as I was already at a pretty low ebb (thanks to all the accumulated writerly/money crap etc), and everyone I know seems to have had at least three bouts of something unpleasant in December, I think it was bound to happen...

Anyway, not going to dwell on it, I'm feeling much better, a bit scared at having missed an entire month of writing - but had no choice - and am now raring to go. Always feel quite keen on everything at the beginning of January. The enthusiasm has usually waned into my usual boredom and inertia by about the 14th...

Many thanks to everyone who emailed me to see if I'd slit my wrists. Have just opened my backlogged emails (hundreds of them) and will answer them asap - promise - but you're brilliant to care. Made me cry...

One thing I've learned though: don't ever think that if you pay a few months money into your mortgage account - as I did when flush with the German royalties - it'll cushion you when you have a shortfall as we did in December. The bank rang to say there wasn't enough in the account to pay the mortgage; I said no because I'd miscalculated my December income on a huge scale but not to worry as I paid three months mortgage money into the account earlier in the year so that would cover us, wouldn't it? Silence. Then they said no, that an over-the-top deposit didn't entitle you to a mortgage payment "holiday" - you couldn't just not pay for a month or two - all it did was reduce the overall amount you owed. What I should have done, apparently, was put the three months mortgage money into a savings account and then drawn on it when things went financially tits up in December... Sooo, we missed out on paying the mortgage in December and will now have to pay twice in Jan - oh joy!!!

Other things that went by the board during December as well as the mortgage - apart from Christmas (well, being broke didn't matter too much as I was too ill to give a stuff!) - Weight Watchers, wedding plans, writing anything at all, giving a toss about writing, eating, drinking, being even slightly sociable... And Em-next-door moved which upset me because I just felt like I was losing everything. We still don't know who's moving in - do hope it'll be someone as lovely as Em - she was the best possible neighbour and friend.

Now have to get a grip - will (if I spend 20 hours a day at keyboard) deliver Moonshine by the end of January; will start dieting and will be skinnied into the m-o-t-b frock by April (somehow managed to gain 5lbs over Dec - despite not being able to eat/drink); will sort out wedding invites/accommodation for guests travelling from a distance/practice walking in m-o-t-b red satin four inch killer heels (FIVE quid in the sales); will write two new synopsisisisisisi for next book deal (ever the optimist!!!); will buy magazines and tailor stories/features instead of my current random scatter gun approach - and will definitely stop procrastinating and bloody do something about the stuff that infuriates/scares/worries/upsets me.

Oh, yes - and I'll blog. I've really, really missed it....

Flat Broke

On top of the bad cold and bronchitis (me), the man-flu (The Toyboy Trucker) and the snuffles and sneezes (the cats), the last week has been pretty crappy for various reasons. Particularly writing ones. So, this is yet another cautionary writing post because I think it's only fair that you should know I have the brain of a retarded amoeba. And that may be a little unfair to the amoeba...



I was considering not blogging about this horrendous mess at all. I thought about keeping it all to myself and simmering and panicking and weeping alone - and then appearing with another bright and breezy post when I felt better. But that wouldn't be right. I started blogging to be honest about my life - real and writerly - and that's how it's got to be. So - here we go...



This year has been a particularly badly-paid one on the writing front for all sorts of reasons. I've sold quite a few short stories, but no serials and very few features. Several acceptances have been payment on publication - and publication won't be until next year. My sales figures for the novels are frankly pretty disappointing. And the advance on my last two book deal was very, very small indeed. The smallest I've ever had in 10 years of being a novelist - and something I accepted because it was better than not being published at all (been there, didn't want to go there again). My (then) agent was ill and away from work at the time my contract came up for renewal and the negotiations were done more or less without any input from her. This was my choice. I didn't have to do it. I knew it would make things difficult financially, I knew I'd have to keep working in the pub, and I thought I'd be able to make up the difference with magazine work. My choice.



So, as with all my novel contracts, I assumed (note the dreaded "a" word there) that payments would be divided into four for each book as they always have been in the past: one on signature of the contract, one on delivery of the manuscript, one on publication of the hardback, and one on publication of the paperback. So far so good... Memo to self: read your contract! Read every bloody word. DO NOT rely on someone from your (then) agency (not my agent I hasten to add) emailing you to tell you "the terms are exactly the same as the last two contracts" and accepting this as a good enough reason NOT to plough through the small print yourself...



Yes, I've been happily sitting here, merely weeks before Christmas, thinking that all my festive spending (and it's not massive - but we do like to eat) and those bills that always come in with the Christmas cards (especially the last enormous vets bill), and possibly the purchase of a nice new little laptop from PC World (to replace the current crashing-and-freezing model) so that I can actually do some writing and earn some money, will be covered by the small but much-needed and very-welcome Happy Birthday paperback advance.

When it hadn't arrived earlier this week, I breezily emailed my lovely editor to ask when it would be paid. Bless her - she had to tell me that it already had been. In August. On publication of the hardback. That there was only ONE publication payment on this particular contract...

Eeeeech!!!!

No money to come!!!! Not a bloody penny!!!!



And yes, it's my fault. I should have read my contract. I should have done my maths and realised that the money I was paid in August was actually a third of the contract deal - and therefore I'd had all I was going to get for Happy Birthday. I should have - but I didn't...



If I'd known/realised then I'd have budgeted. I'd not have spent it and the unexpectedly lovely German royalty money on silly things like bills and getting the decorating finished and a holiday for next year and a bit off the mortgage. If I'd known/realised that was the last money I was going to be paid this year then I'd have saved it - but I didn't...

So, after a few days of complete panic, a lot of stomping around declaring Christmas cancelled, several bouts of histrionic weeping and screaming, and even more bouts of deep, deep gloom, doom and despondency I've at last accepted the awful truth. This Christmas will be done on a shoestring. It will be a return to the Good Old Days.

It'll be a challenge but one we'll cope with, I'm sure. We've been through worse - and we're lucky, at least we've still got jobs and a home - and we're warm and safe and well-fed.


So - there you have it. I can have books in the charts, can win awards, can be published in umpteen countries - but I still can't afford Christmas. It's just one of the many unpredictable joys of being a writer... but oooh, how I wish I'd read that bloody contract....

Mainly Man Flu

This is Dexter. Today he's got a cold. So has Jonah. The cats get colds like children - one comes home with it and - whoosh! - they've all got it... Alexia started this one, and passed it on to Emily, Flo and Maddy, but being girls they didn't let the sneezes and snuffles interfere with their lives. They still managed to eat and play and chase things and bring home bits of other people's dinners and dead mice/frogs/unidentifiable things. Not Dexter and Jonah though. Oh, no. They're boys. They're suffering. They're wrapped in their blankets in their little beds looking very, very sorry for themselves. They need to be ministered to, and tended, and fed by hand, and coaxed with warm chicken breast and lightly poached fish. They have, without doubt, got the feline equivalent of man flu.



Which, of course brings me neatly on to The Toyboy Trucker. I told you he'd get man flu didn't I? What a bloody palaver. Didn't matter how many times I said "it's just a cold" - he roared and shivered and stomped and groaned and moaned and sneezed and coughed until I thought he was going to burst. And of course no-one in the history of the universe has ever felt as ill as he did. No-one had ever suffered so much. No-one had had such a high temperature, such a sore throat, so many aches and pains... I was damn thankful when he took himself to bed with Lemsip and Benylin (do they sound like pole dancers to you, too?) and left me in peace alone with blissful hours of trash telly...

Which, in turn explains why this post is ages late - because then I caught it too. Not man flu, of course, I'll leave that to The Toyboy Trucker and Jonah and Dexter - but a really nasty cold with an awful chesty cough, which then developed into bronchitus and tonsillitus, and has meant I've had to have antibiotics, and has rendered me pretty unpleasant for the last week. I've even spent a few days in bed. And the computer has been on strike again, and I've really not had the inclination to even try to fight it - so I've done nothing to Moonshine, nothing to the WW stories, but did manage (after studying Womag's fantastic pages) to finish and submit that short story to Best, and two features to My Weekly and two features to Woman's Weekly as well. Still not a great output for someone who fondly imagines they're making their living from writing, even on an "ill week"...



Because the blog has been all over the place, I've not kept up to date with the Weight Watchers stuff either - well, because of the cold I didn't go to the meeting last week, but have lost another 3.5lbs in the last 2 weeks, which because my head is still too muddled to work this out, I think means I've lost half a stone now and have another stone to go before Easter - which is - um - 14lbs in about 17 weeks??? Which, allowing for about half a stone gain over Christmas (I kid you not!), then I have to lose 21lbs in 17 weeks, which means - and - ooooh! I really, really don't care!!!!



The only other thing that's changed in the last week is that Em-next-door is moving at Christmas. I'll really miss her - she's lived next door for seven years and we're good friends and had some great times. And of course we're all wondering who we'll get in her place... It'll have to be someone pretty special to fit in round here...

Watch this space...

Mad Hatters

Today I went wedding-hat-shopping with Elle and my ma-in-law. That is, Elle didn't want to buy a wedding hat because she's having something called diamond spirals threaded in her hair (no veil - no ta-ra-ra - no flowers - no hat), and I didn't want to buy a hat because I'm having a fascinator. So we actually just went shopping for ma-in-law's wedding hat.

I'll cut the whole boring thing short here by saying we didn't find one. Not one. Clearly not a good time to look for wedding hats - the only hats we found were Santa ones or ones with flashing antlers and although they would look quite amusing on ma-in-law I don't think she'd see the funny side. Having exhausted Oxford's hat shops we're going to try Reading and Newbury. After Christmas.

Ma-in-law is wearing red to the wedding. I think we're all wearing red except Elle. We'll look like Arsenal Ladies Second Eleven. Ma-in-law wanted a frou-frou cartwheel hat in black and red. She's quite short and Elle and I did say we thought a big hat would make her look like a mushroom. Fortunately she's a bit deaf too.

I tried on some fascinators. Couldn't afford them because they were Jasper Conran and therefore about three hundred quid a feather, but it was nice to see what they'd look like. Once she'd stopped laughing, Elle took pictures on her mobile phone to send back to The Doctor because she said I looked like an electrocuted emu. As this wasn't the look I was aiming for I put them back. I may re-think the fascinator. Maybe fascinators aren't for people like me who tend to look a lot like Benny Hill.

There was a funny moment in Debenhams (Debenhams has been "modernised" recently - which means they've done away with much of the floor space and now have all the departments crammed together upstairs like a posh jumble sale and the lower floors that used to have all sorts of nice sections like haberdashery now just house massive escalators) when Elle and I lost ma-in-law. It's quite hard to spot your own small bubble-permed pensioner in a sea of small bubble-permed pensioners. Especially when they're all wearing the same coat.

Giving up the search in the melee that was the evening-wear department (Dolce et Gabana sequinned vests at £2,500 anyone?), we thought she might have decided to go downstairs, so we took the plunge earthwards on the down escalator. Halfway down to the basement we passed ma-in-law sailing upwards alongside us. We all waved at one another and made extravagant hand gestures indicating that she should stay put and we'd her meet at the top. Suffice it to say that no sooner were we on the up escalator in hot pursuit when we passed ma-in-law sailing downwards. We all waved again. This went on for almost half an hour. What seemed quite funny at first soon became bloody tedious.

In the end, I stayed at the bottom and Elle stayed at the top. Ma-in-law didn't arrive at either of them. Feeling a bit worried that I'd have to go home and tell The Toyboy Trucker I'd mislaid his mother in a department store, we searched high and low (literally). Forty five panic-stricken minutes later we eventually found ma-in-law having a skinny latte and a Danish in the coffee shop with a man from Croydon who had lost his wife in bedding.

Nothing much else to say about the day really except The Toyboy Trucker declined to come with us because he has a cold. It'll be man flu by this time tomorrow - or I'll eat my hat....

Ivy, Interview and Interruptions

Well - phew - the Radio Europe interview went really well. Just finished and apart from um-ing and er-ing far too much (as always) I managed to keep up a flow of (hopefully) reasonably sensible dialogue. Hannah, the interviewer, was brilliant (she'd done loads of research, was very upbeat and asked all the right questions), let me chat for ages about Happy Birthday, gave it masses of plugs, and even allowed me to get a good name check in for the RNA and the Writers Bureau. So - that's that completed successfully, then. Mind you, this being my life, it could have all gone horribly wrong...

The neighbours (Wilf and Maudie) are getting to grips with their garden. They chose today, just now, while I was doing my interview, to decide to remove the rampant ivy which partially covers their house wall - and ours. I actually quite like the ivy because it makes the house look softer, the birds feed from the seeds, it looks pretty in the winter, and gives us some much-needed shade in the lean-to in the summer. However, Wilf and Maudie have decided (more likely someone in the Weasel and Bucket who's seen a BBC2 prog with Griff Rhys-Jones on the decimation of ancient buildings and totally misunderstood the structural difference between a 14th century abbey and a 20th century council house has told them) the ivy is eroding the brickwork and invading the roof tiles and the chimney and will therefore destroy the house by February, and so it has to go.

Wilf knocked on the door just as I was waiting for the phone call from Spain and explained they'd need to get into our garden to hoik out the ivy roots that can't be reached from his side. I said okay, but be quiet because I'm going to be on the phone... Wilf laughed. He probably thought I was talking to the speaking clock. Wilf is the only person I know who still phones the speaking clock.

Anyway, Radio Europe phoned me just as Wilf and Shaz's Dave knocked on the front door and shouted that they'd have to bring their ladders through the house because they couldn't negotiate the side alley into our garden (too complex to go into here - just need to say that Wilf was instrumental in getting all the alleyways in the terrace gated-off by writing to the council complaining that "schoolboys keep riding up my back passage"). So, while I'm trying hard to sound professional and calm on live radio, Shaz's Dave and Wilf are thundering through the house with ladders and bolt cutters and a buzz saw (for the ivy roots - hopefully) and loudly singing Alesha Dixon's "The Boy Does Nothing" - very badly.

Radio Europe thought it might be better if I went somewhere quieter. Like Budleigh Salterton? I went upstairs into the study. Dave and Wilf grinned at me through the study window from the top of the ladder and waved and sawed (nosily) at the ivy and sang some more Alesha Dixon. I closed the window and pulled the blind, phone under my chin, still trying to sound calm and cheerful as I explained to the ex-pats in Spain why I wrote romantic comedy rather than something darker.

Then Jerome called upstairs from our hall, looking for Wilf. I ignored him. I hate Jerome being in the house anyway because his electronic tag causes all sorts of interference with our electricals (and we've got enough problems with the computer) and the phone picks him up in a series of intermittent squawks. As Jerome reached the foot of the stairs, I vanished in a flurry of Morse Code bleeps, so Radio Europe and I dived into the bathroom. I did the rest of the interview sitting on the loo.

When I came out, Wilf had fallen off the ladder, Dave had cut himself and Jerome had eaten three rotten apples which I'd earmarked for the birds and some ham that was well past its sell-by and was set aside for the cats...

Most of the ivy, I'm happy to say, is still in situ and is likely to stay that way.

Spandex, Surprise and Spain

I haven't been off living it up in Bad Blogger territory - honest. It's the computer having a funny turn again. It's decided to shut down on me halfway through anything I've tried to do over the past few days. A joint problem with a) the server and b) the hard drive (allegedly). We've had it sorted (allegedly) and it should keep going now. I really hope it manages to stay alive until Moonshine's finished (although I've got quite good at remembering to save on to the memory stick each night - but you don't want to know how damn long it took me to learn how to use the memory stick... I know a child of three can do it - but I can't.) - and no, Moonshine won't be finished by Christmas. Not a chance. Not now. That's the deadline of Oct, Nov and Dec missed then - oh, well done - that has to be a deadline-missing record - even for me...

During the intermittent moments while it (the computer) has been behaving itself I've been writing Moonshine in tandem with some more stories for Woman's Weekly. Yes, I know it's masochistic given the last lot of rejections, but I had these ideas and they wouldn't go away...

Then we had the two parties over the weekend - a sort of grown-up one and a 1970s night (hence the pic). Now, I'd have expected the 1970s one to be the shocker - but no! It was fun - camp, noisy, nostalgic, enjoyable - but nothing remotely odd happened. (Well, apart from everyone we know wearing acrylic fright wigs and spandex and platform shoes and singing Long Haired Lover From Liverpool a lot.). No, it was the posh party one that threw up the big surprise.

With hindsight it was a great *what-if* plot line - but at the time I was too stunned to think of anything apart from how the hell do I handle this... Quick scene setting: glitzy restaurant in Oxford; a crowd of people known to both me and The Toyboy Trucker (some to both of us, others individually); we all travelled separately and met in the bar. After the initial scrum, and clutching drinks, we all started introducing ourselves as you do. The Toyboy Trucker fought his way through the mob and said "... and this is P who works at our place and this is S, her new boyfriend..." And I turned and smiled and started to say hello - then stopped. S, P's new boyfriend, was someone I knew well. Very well. But not quite as well as I knew his wife...

Aargh!!! Well, what would you have done? S and I just stared at each other in frozen horror, I babbled something stupid at both him and P, then avoided them like the plague for the rest of the evening. It's none of my business. Or is it? I won't tell S's wife - not a chance! I won't tell P either - that's down to S, isn't it? It made the evening really weird though, and I felt very uncomfortable. Discussing it with The Toyboy Trucker when we got home, he agreed that it was best to leave it alone. I'm sure someone, somewhere will inform all interested parties pretty damn soon - but it won't be me! Will keep you posted of any developments...

Oh, and the Spain bit in the subject line is because I've been asked to do The Book Show on Radio Europe Mediterraneo on Thursday this week. I got very, very, very excited about this because REM is based in Malaga, and I had visions of being whisked off by private jet to a few days of sun and sangria - but bugger - no... It's being done over the phone. I said I hoped it would be in English as my Spanish O level was pretty dismal and things have gone right down hill linguistically since then - and they've assured me that REM is the biggest English-speaking radio station in Spain - a station especially for ex-pats on the Costa del Sol, Costa Blanca and Costa Dorada. Last week REM's Book Show had Sophie Kinsella and Marian Keyes - oh goody - no pressure there then!!!!

I'll let you know how it goes - but until then - um - adios amigos....