Truth is stranger than Fiction!

 At half past 7 last night I was in the toilets of a London hotel trying to stop a nose bleed – how surreal is that? I’ve not had such a gushing flow for a long time and I wondered if it would stop before I headed across town to catch my train home. Would I have to sit all bloody on the tube with a wodge of tissue stuffed up my nose?

(I had visions of the beginning of If I Can’t Have You by Charlotte Levin – if you’ve never read it I urge you to look it up.)

Fortunately, I stemmed the tide, left the loos, exited the hotel, crossed the road to Marks and Spencer’s, and bought myself a coronation chicken sandwich and some sparkling water. It’s the little details that make all the difference.

I guess you want to know why I was even there, some shady assignation perhaps? Oh, believe me the truth seems even more unbelievable than what I’ve just written, although every word happened.

You see I won an award last night – does that sound like the work of fiction? Actually, most of my writing thus far has been recounting real life so I won a prize for best non-fiction book.

The Ink Book Prize has been set up to reward those of us who have self-published.

(Although I am published by Resolute Books, we are a collective of independent authors each with our own responsibilities for self-publishing, the Resolute logo is a badge of honour – each book goes through a strict review process to earn it.)

This was the inaugural award with prizes for fiction, non-fiction and children’s fiction, alongside an award for best debut. Established by award-winning author Abiola Bello and award-winning publicist Helen Lewis.

I was up for debut as well but put on my gracious loser face when it was awarded to Claire Linney for children’s book Time Tub Travellersand the Silk Thief.

She spoke incredibly well and her book sounds amazing. It is about children who travel back in time and discover black characters in British history – something so many of us do not realise. I can’t wait to read it.

My friend Claire from Resolute was up for the fiction prize for her historical novel Wheel of Fortune. She also didn’t win, but didn’t have to practice her gracious loser face as unfortunately she was unable to attend.

The fiction prize was awarded to Eva Asprakis for Thirty-eight Days of Rain. A young writer with obvious talent and so much better at public speaking than she believes!

Then they read out the blurb for the non-fiction and it was so obviously my words.

winning books

You dream of getting an award and composing yourself to deliver your thank you speech, but I can’t say I prepared anything, I stood there, waved my arms about and told the potted history – came home, Andrew collapsed, word turned upside down and started blogging – I think telling the story is now like muscle memory, I've repeated it so often.

winning authors

Did I ever believe when I started this almost 14 years ago that I would end up here – well honestly I hoped I would, I want my story out there if I’m brutally honest. Mostly for altruistic reasons, I want to dispel the taboo of bereavement and grief, I want to get people talking about these things so they become just a little easier to deal with. I want to give people permission to speak about their loved ones, I long to hear their stories too.

Real life is sometimes so much weirder than what we can make up.

“I can’t believe all this happened to you.” Said Abiola “You made me cry.”

Yes, I do have that effect on people but this is my reward, more icing and cherries on the cake – maybe this is sprinkles. Whatever it is I’m loving it.

And the nosebleed – maybe that was down to pure excitement – but it happened – honestly everything I write is true 😉

Forty Years of Friendship

 There are some key moments in your life that make you feel your age.

Discovering your first grey hair.

When your oldest child heads off to university.

When your youngest child graduates from university.

When you meet up with friends you have known for 40 years, and that’s not the friends you first met age 5 when you started school but the friends you made at sixth form, when you were 16. (I’ll let you do the maths with that one and work out our age now)

This weekend I was privileged to host such a social gathering.

Between the six of us that met, two of us have experienced cancer, two have been divorced and remarried, one of us – OK me – has suffered the loss of a spouse, only one still has both parents around - sadly not me. Between us we have 13 children and all of them are older than we were when we first met!

That’s quite mind-blowing. I suppose in many ways it’s amazing we are still all here and that we are still friends.

We don’t all get to meet up very often, one friend joined us remotely from Exeter later in the evening. Although most us live in the area we grew up in, four of us moved away but two of us came back.

floating head in the top righthand corner for our live link to Exeter

I realise there are a lot of numbers in this – 4 of us started A level maths together, 2 dropped out, one failed and one passed – but it’s only a grade D. (again this is me! 😊)

But of course, we are much more than incredible numbers. The lives we’ve lived and how they have intertwined over the years would make a cracking novel – I’d change the names. I don’t think any of us have had any major fallings out in that time either, maybe for a better read I’d have to add some tension!

Although honestly, I don’t need to write it down, we did all that back in the day. When we finished sixth form, we each had an exercise book to stick photos in and share our memories.

Looking back at these books evoked such crazy memories. The clothes we wore were hilarious, although many of the photos were of parties where we had dressed up. We wrote silly stories with song titles, memories from the geography field trip and English lessons. We wrote in code and used “in jokes” that make little sense to anyone but us.

The afternoon ran into the evening and we never ran out of things to say. Seemingly no topic was off limit, but let’s just say it was the “boys” who started the HRT/menopause conversation, talking about their wives. How refreshing to have such a bond.

When will we meet up again – we always say we need to do it more, realistically I suppose a couple of years may go by before we get our act together, although I hope it’s sooner than that.

 

And the crazy conversation carries on…

 

Coffee with milk, tea with milk, tea with just a splash

I make a list to get it right, I’m a hostess with panache

 

And in my notebook also goes, the silly things we say

Phrases to create a poem, I take the words and play

 

They just need sufficient stirring, perhaps I’ll make a roux

Blending with precision seems the proper thing to do

 

We discuss the years when we were born, for most that’s ‘68

Other notable births of that time; Kylie and Catherine Tate

 

“I could have had Kylie’s body, if I hadn’t given birth”

Instead, a fine pair of knees show tremendous worth

 

“I have a sexy elbow! It’s written in the book”

I roll up my sleeve seductively, so everyone can look.

 

Body parts and HRT, is any topic taboo?

Reaching that age when we have to know, "where’s the nearest loo?"

 

We discuss emergency sponge fingers, tiramisu, random Italians

While wondering if Charlotte “would like to sell my stallion?”

 

So now I’ve lifted-up the curtain, exposing our chaotic rambling

Have we matured over the years? I doubt it, but we’re still standing!

Telling my story out loud!

I can’t believe it was over a week ago that I travelled to Monkeynut recording studio in Hampshire to record my first audio book.

It is not the first time I have been in a studio. My Library Studies degree included a media option where we received hands-on experience with all manner of recording and editing. I would often opt to be in front of the camera and I’m perfectly happy with a microphone listening to the sound of my own voice.

Maybe you need some narcissistic tendencies to do this, or just a belief that what you have to say will be interesting and helpful.

In the back of my mind, I was thinking of an older friend who posted on Facebook she finds it difficult to read much these days and would my book be recorded as she would like to listen to my story. This also helped me remember an old piece of advice when presenting on radio – imagine you are just speaking to one person. So, Margaret, this was very much recorded with you in mind.

I’m not sure I ever believed this would happen, but when the chance presented itself, I knew it was something I wanted to invest in, it’s not cheap, but I’m not an author for the money. I want my words out there in whatever form possible, hopefully helping others who have had similar experiences.

Elliott Frisby, owner of Monkeynut, and my producer for the day, came out with an interesting comment when we stopped for lunch, soup, fresh bread and Lurpak butter (other brands are available).

“I always think Lurpak is something you have at Christmas because it’s special. A bit like recording an audiobook.”

found on Facebook - in Otter News

It’s certainly not something you do every day, unless you work in the industry doing voiceover work. If publishing your words is the icing on the cake, then recording them is the cherry on the top.

The process is simply reading, with expression.

You read from an iPad and just scroll at your own speed. The beauty of my book is that most of the time one of my short stories fitted completely on the screen. I knew when I could take a larger pause, then I'd scroll to the next one and compose myself again. 

Elliott told me to put myself back in time to remember how I was feeling at each stage so I wasn’t just reading but taking the listener on an emotional journey.

For me this was a really interesting part of the process. Each story stirred up so much and I tried to relive as much as I could. The breathlessness of “Sleepless” – the first night without Andrew. The joy of having our first son just before Christmas and the twinkling tree lights making everything magical. The horror of youngest son when I took a pair of scissors to his dad’s sweatshirt which I was recycling  into a bag.

I could see every scene playing out in my mind, taste each mouthful of food I mentioned, touch the coldness of Andrew’s dead body, hear the laughter as we watched the fireworks with friends and smell the soup in our mugs. Maybe I’m just blessed with a vivid imagination, but I really hope I have managed to convey all these senses in the recording.

“How many mistakes did you make?” some friends have asked, as if a mistake is a huge tragedy.

It really isn’t. Elliott would just interrupt the proceedings, “can we go back to…”

I would just repeat that one sentence, without fuss or any fear I’d jeopardised the whole project.

Often, I knew the issue - a rumbly tummy, a slight hesitation or mispronunciation. These things are easy to edit out – going back to my student days we used reel to reel tape which we cut with razor blades and spliced with tape, a time-consuming process. Digital recording is much simpler, or at least I assume it is, I’m leaving all of that in the hands of the professionals.

So now it’s a waiting game as the production work is done behind the scenes.

Now the day is a memory to write about, something to cherish, an opportunity too good to miss.

I guess now I have to write another book, because I really do want to do this again. But nothing will beat this FIRST time, because my story is so personal.

Thanks to Elliott at Monkeynut for making the whole day so much fun too. And when I recorded the freestyle bit and you called my “one take wonder!” that really made my day as my confidence soared.

 

As an aside, once I’d finished recording there was time to visit Romsey Abbey. Inside is the Florence Nightingale window, which depicts her being called by God.

Telling my story is what I believe God has called me to do and I felt a sense that this beautiful piece of artwork confirmed that.

Then I walked outside into the drizzle to marvel at the wild flowers. From the rainbow I saw a few days before Andrew died until now, God is always reminding me of his goodness, adding a sprinkling of glitter. I felt blessed and I pray this new telling of my story blesses others in ways I cannot even begin to imagine.

Incidental Adventures

 I’ve just arrived home from a grand adventure. 

Yesterday I was recording my audio book, it was all very exciting, but today I want to write about all the incidental stories along the way. The bits I might forget if I don’t write them down now.

My friend dropped me off at the station in plenty of time, even with a minor detour along a country road – the adventure started early.

The train to and across London were fine. I ended up in Waterloo as planned, not sure if I’d even been here before. But they were giving away Maoam sweeties on the station so that was an extra bonus.

Mmmmm...

The trains had all been on time and I settled down with my packed lunch and a good book.

I made my final change at Southampton Airport (Parkway) a bit of a mouthful. There was an advert for Southampton University. My friend’s daughter is going there next month, it wasn’t her first choice but I sent this photo “thinking about you”. I suppose it was a sort of prayer, wishing her well on the next adventure. I wonder what plans God has got for this articulate and clever young woman, why he has taken her on an unexpected path?

When I reached my destination and got off the train I asked a young mum of two boys for the direction into town. They were waiting for the green man to cross the road and although it was safe to cross I waited with them. Her eldest lad told me he had some money and was off to buy some Pokemon cards.

“He got some at a car boot sale for a pound.” His mum told me. “Now he thinks everything is the same price.”

It was lovely to chat to someone as we walked together, it made me remember when my boys were that young. I wished them luck in their Pokemon search as we parted company and I searched for my hotel.

I checked in, found a duck in the ensuite, then went off in search of tea and cake followed by a mooch round the charity shops.

hello Ducky!

There were two books I wanted in the Oxfam shop in mint condition, so I couldn’t leave them there.

Two of my favourite authors and I've met both of them!

I booked a table in the restaurant for my dinner and while waiting sat reading enjoying the ambiance and the eclectic soundtrack. One minute Human League, One Man in My Heart, which I confess I had to Google because I couldn’t remember it, although the voice was so distinctive. 

I’m playing it now as I type. The next minute we were bang up to date with Taylor Swift’s Tortured Poets Department - another favourite! "Who uses typewriters anyway?" 

 

I didn’t sleep much that night but I had set my phone alarm in preparation. Not that I needed it as there was a radio in my room which burst into a rousing rendition of the Dambusters theme at 7:20.

I had no idea how to unset the radio alarm but hey who knew I liked Classic FM. I spent this morning listening to some more before I got up for a more leisurely breakfast. I was thankful for the display informing me what I was listening to, then I remembered what film score it was in.

Facebook reminded me it was a friend’s birthday today, so I popped back to a little shop I’d found the other day to buy her a present – no photo of that, she might be reading this and I don’t want to spoil the surprise 😉

I mooched in Waterstones, oh there are so many books I want to read. I hurried along to the station, I’d got time enough to read a chapter or two before my train arrived.

As I sat on a low window ledge at Southampton Airport (Parkway) enjoying the warm sunshine I marvelled that could get down so low. Am I really 56? Dressed in my dungarees, do I look years younger? Whatever age I look I am now filled with so much confidence than I was 30 years ago.

There was a couple on the next train going to London to celebrate their Diamond Wedding anniversary. What a fabulous achievement.

“Did you get a telegram from the King?”

“We got a card.” She smiled.

“Oh, silly me, telegram is so old fashioned.”

We laughed and I wished them well.

So many brief encounters with people who I will never see again, but they made me smile.

Leaving Liverpool Street with 50 pages left to read...

I just about finished reading my book as I pulled into the station.

A friend was waiting to pick me up. And now I’m home, although I’m heading out in an hour to the cinema. My life is such a while at the moment.

But I needed to write about the little things that brought me joy.

Recording my audio book has to be up there with the list of best days ever, ever but it was surrounded by so much more that contributed to the overall experience.

I've found lots of glitter and hope I've distributed some more along the way for others to find.

Lessons from the garden

 I’m not the world’s greatest gardener but you would never know that from my photos. I tend to zoom in on the good bits, the pretty flowers, or a bowl of ripe home-grown strawberries.

There’s seems to be a lack of bright colours at the moment, just shades of green. Something has eaten the flowers I planted the other week.

But I did take a few photos yesterday and created a collage to share on Facebook.

My dwarf beans were beginning to flower – young plants full of potential.

Alas when I looked today, they are mostly covered in slug slime – not sure I’ll even have enough for one meal when they are ready to harvest.

Then there is my climbing rose by the back door. Perhaps it is past its best for this summer, strewn petals have littered the ground, dead heads have been plucked and binned. The solitary rose that is left looks magnificent and so is the delicate fragrance.

Sadly today it looks more forlorn and crispy round the edges. I’m glad I took a photo yesterday.

One thing is the same today as yesterday, not ravaged by heat or rain. The allium seed head is quite magnificent. It was even more spectacular covered in multitudes of deep purple flowers a month ago. Particularly when sprinkled with sparkling rain drops. However, it remains elegant in this final season. Worthy of being photographed.

 As I ponder the plants in my garden and the stages they are at, I compare them to my own life.

I am hardly a young bean anymore – a has-bean maybe?

I don’t think I’ve quite reached the seed head stage.

Perhaps I am most like the rose bush, still blooming, pushing out a burst of colour every now and then.

 

Then I remember the passage from Ecclesiastes chapter 3

There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

 … and I remember that Jesus told stories about seeds and plants and growing things.

As ever there is much to ponder in the garden, and maybe a few too many weeds to pull up. I grab a handful, throw them in the bin and come inside to write this, considering my words to be like rose petals, beautifully layered causing you to stop and wonder.

Waiting for the rain to fall

One of the best things about being part of Resolute Books is the camaraderie of working with others writers. We are a collective of authors with various talents who all publish under the Resolute logo.

As well as our differing experiences we write in different styles and genres.

We have only been up and running for just over a year and we already have 8 titles, crime, historical fiction, parts one and two of a Young Adult dystopian thriller, some poetry, Jane Austen inspired short stories and of course my memoir in flash.

They make a stunning display when we are selling them at events.

With Ruth Leigh, indoors at the Darsham Book Fair

We’ve done a few events now but this weekend was the first one outside at the Bury St Edmunds Makers Market.

“Let’s book a pitch in July!” said Ruth fully expecting wall to wall sunshine, the gazebo only needed for shade.

Alas the forecast was mixed, starting dry but with heavy thunderstorms expected by lunchtime.

All thoughts of wearing a floaty summer dress and looking the part of the elegant writer went out of the window as I opted for my winter sparkly jumper, skirt with sequins, accessorised with woolly tights and boots. When the sun shone, I felt over dressed but once the temperature dipped I was the only one who didn’t resort to throwing my raincoat on.

You see the expected rain never materialised. At least now where we were. I’m not sure how we missed it, some of the puddles when driving home stretched across the entire road.

All afternoon we waited and watched, checked our various weather apps, none of which seemed to get it right.

We discussed the colour of the clouds. Gun metal grey – too dark, elephant breath, silver frost, pearlescent dust, old man’s beard?

I’d fully expected the day to be a total wash out, with three ladies of a certain age wrapped up in raincoats, raindrops dripping off our noses trying to keep the stock dry. Reading books is the perfect pastime on a rainy day if you are inside, otherwise rain and paper don’t mix.

In the end the day surpassed our expectations, we sold several books and had some great conversations with those visiting the market.

With Ruth and Lesley - holding an array of cracking summer reads.

When I returned home the heavens opened and there was a terrific thunderstorm, but the sun made an appearance at the same time creating a double rainbow. I even managed to get a photo of rainbow and lightning in one shot.

Can you see the lightning? Underneath the rainbow.

It was a complete and utter fluke that I pressed the button at just the right time, but just like the British summer you have no idea what each day will bring. You might just catch the perfect moment.

So, roll on the next event, come rain or shine we will still be smiling 😊

A Bookish Morning

I was wide awake far too early this morning, but I'd had a good night's sleep so decided to make good use of the time by finishing the novel I was too tired to read last night.

All the Devils are Here is the 16th Inspector Gamache novel by Louise Penny. I love the characters so much that I greedily devour each one. This was a bit different, set in Paris rather than the sleepy hamlet of Three Pines in Quebec – the Canadian version of Midsomer.

I enjoyed reading Louise’s reason for setting this one in Europe, it’s always fascinating to get an author’s inside scoop.

I dropped a bag of donations at the charity shop and fatally browsed the book section.

What jumped out at me was a novelty Star Wars book which I shall hide and give to youngest son for a Christmas present. No worries about him reading this and discovering my plans. He never reads my blogs.

I had a book to pick up at the library but on my way I discovered the second hand bookshop was open. So I wandered in with a vague idea of buying something for my brother’s birthday. He’s not really a book person but perhaps I could find him something quirky about a topic he enjoys. Alas I wasn’t inspired but did spot this.

Excuse the jaunty angle of this photo, I was trying to hold the book and take a photo at the same time. 

It seemed highly improbable there is more than one Basil Hunnisett in this world and it’s not a name I’ve ever really forgotten. I checked the author biography and indeed it was the very same Basil Hunnisett who was head of the Library Studies Department at Brighton Polytechnic – “now the University of Brighton.”

I can’t remember much about his lectures, but he wasn’t the lecturer who let us sit outside on a sunny day. I think he interviewed me for a place when I first applied and he was possibly the lecturer that told us all on the first day that we were all on the course because we were nosey, inquisitive, and wanted to find things out.

At the princely sum of £20 I decided I didn’t really need a copy in my own library, returned it to the shelf and tootled off to the library to pick up the book I did need.

We have decided to read this fictional account of Julian of Norwich in our church housegroup as a change from discussing Bible commentaries.

Reviews include one from Julian Clary “Am tempted to become a mystic.” And from the Rt Hon Jack Straw “strongly reminded me of Maggie O’Farrell’s Hamnet.”

I really enjoyed Hamnet and love finding out about real history wrapped up in a novel.

While in the library I looked for my own book, then discovered it was out on loan – which is probably even more exciting than finding it sat on the shelf unread.

So, I searched for my friend’s book and snapped a photo of that in situ – don’t worry Ruth Leigh, I checked and it has been borrowed a handful of times.

the pink on in the middle - Diary of Isabella M Smugge

I walked home happy and while in the mood for snapping photos I took a picture of this fine chap.

I have a friend who likes snails, she’s not as obsessed with them as writer Patricia Highsmith, but you need to check out my blog post on Authors Electric to find out that story.