Carol Hedges's Blog, page 40

INCEPTIO Book Launch. The PINK SOFA was there.

Alison MortonYesterday, fellow author and Twitter friend Alison Morton's novel Inceptio was launched. The PINK SOFA went to the launch, accompanied by its usual bottle of 40% proof and roll of police incident tape. Alison has been extremely busy in both the run up, and on the launch day, but she has very kindly popped in to collapse on The PINK SOFA and talk about the book. In honour of the event, there are mini spotlights, amphorae of red wine, bread and delicious fish soup on the coffee table. 
The Roman Snails, fresh from their victory parade round their field (which has taken them all week) will also be putting in an appearance at some point, so please check the floorboards very carefully when you stand up. Alison, over to you...

''Thank you for welcoming me to your blog, Carol. Yesterday, three years of slog - researching, writing and publishing led to the exciting moment when my debut novel Inceptio was published. I've played with words most of my life - storyteller, playwright (aged 7), article writer, local magazine editor and professional translator. The idea for the novel came one evening in a darkened auditorium of our local multiplex on half-price Wednesday. We were watching a particularly dire film. The photography was gorgeous, the story total crap. 'I could do better that this,' I whispered to my other half. 'So why don't you?' Three months later I had completed thee first draft of Inceptio, the first of my Roma Nova alternative history thrillers. (The PINK SOFA is just butting in here to say that it produced its first novel, Ring of Silver, Lord of Time, as a result of  a husbandly challenge; it wonders how many other writers have gone down the same path?)

I knew I needed to learn novel-crafting skills, so joined the Romantic Novelists' Association New Writers Scheme in 2010.  Participation in two RNA conferences, an Arvon Foundation course in commercial fiction and the Festival of Writing at York all helped me develop my writing. And I meet some knowledgeable, generous and fun people along the way. My history MA had taught me how to research and my six years in the Territorial Army trained me to do 'guns and mud'. Perfect preparation for Inceptio.

My husband took early retirement, I sold my translation business and we decamped to France in May 2010. Surrounded by peace, fresh air and sunshine, I have written to further books in the series. I write most mornings after a short spurt on social media, and do domestic stuff in the afternoons. In the evening, I'll write a few more lines, research and mess about, er, ' interact with professional colleagues' on Facebook and Twitter.

One question I'm often asked: is Inceptio about Romans? Stories with Romans are usually about famous emperors, epic battles, depravity, intrigue, wicked empresses and a lot of shouty men with sandals, tunics and swords. But project the Roman theme sixteen hundred years forward into the 21st century, and with a feminine twist. How unlike ours would that world be?

Inventing a different development in history is not for the faint-hearted. I firmly believe you have to know your history reasonably well before sending it in a different direction. I've been a 'Roman nut' since I was eleven, fascinated by my first mosaic. More importantly, I know what I don't know and am prepared to track it down.

Inceptio starts in New York - present day, alternative reality. Karen Brown, angry and frightened after surviving a kidnap attempt has a harsh choice - being eliminated by government enforcer Jeffery Renschman or fleeing to the mysterious Roma Nova, her dead mother's homeland in Europe. Founded sixteen centuries ago by Roman exiles and ruled by women, Roma Nova gives Karen safety, a ready-made family and a new career. But a shocking discovery about her new lover, the fascinating but arrogant special forces officer Conrad Tellus who rescued her in America, isolates her.
Inceptio cover
Renschman reaches into her new home and nearly kills her. Recovering, she is desperate to find out why he is hunting her so viciously. Unable to rely on anybody else, she undergoes intensive training, develops her fighting skills and becomes an undercover cop. But crazy with bitterness at his past failures, Renschman sets a trap for her, knowing she has no choice but to spring it....''

Inceptio is available in the UK on Amazon: www.amazon.co.uk/Inceptio-Alison-Mort...  and in the US: www.amazon.com/Inceptio-Roma-Nova-Ali...

Find Alison on: www.alison-morton.com, www.facebook.com/AlisonMortonAuthor, and follow her on Twitter @alison_morton

What an amazing concept. Alison is currently working on Perfiditas, the second book in the Roma Nova series. And now, let the soup and bread flow free! And mind the snails!!

A Nasty Virus

Roman Snails are armed and dangerousA highly vexatious week at Hedges Towers. First I was hit by a computer virus. Every time I tried to type, all I got was row after row of Xs. They even typed themselves regardless of me. Twitter, email, Facebook: rows of Xs. And I couldn't delete or file anything  - just got flashing lines. Absolute panic hit as I thought of all the manuscripts I'd failed to back up (as you don't), the photos of DD's wedding and other precious family events that were even now melting away somewhere in cyberspace.

Shut down the computer, and rebooted it. Still the same. Rows and rows of Xs. By now I was total despair and near to tears. Desperate enough to contemplate ringing Computer Mendy Guy on a Sunday afternoon. It was only while I was rummaging through the little box of business cards by the keyboard that I suddenly noticed the X key looked slightly lower than the others. Closer inspection revealed that it appeared to be stuck down by something which, upon the application of a paperclip proved to be ginger cake. I'm sure there are many, many lessons to be drawn from this, and I shall leave you to draw them.

The best blackberries ever. Maximus the Roman Snail (unarmed)On a more serious note, the flawed planning application to force an 'access road' onto our playing field, destroying an ancient bank, seven mature trees, a colony of protected Roman Snails and all our lovely blackberries, was passed by a Planning Officer, which meant it was now heading for a committee of councillors to be ratified. Once again, I was faced with the prospect of having to prepare a 3 minute speech to give at the committee meeting. Have you, gentle blog reader, ever had to prepare a 3 minute speech? I only ask because if you haven't, you probably think 'piece of cake' (possibly not ginger ..).

 I have done many 3 minute speeches since I started this campaign. They are total buggers to compose. I would actually rather write a 70,000 word novel than write a 3 minute speech. It's like one of those You-tube things where a large cat attempts to climb inside a jam jar. Trying to condense all your points into 3 minutes is almost impossible. Finally got it down to 3 minutes 9 seconds, managing to get in the cost, the illegality of killing IUCN Red Listed animals, the health and safety concerns over kids running onto a field with diggers and spoil lorries AND the fact that if we got Town Green, the council could face action in the Magistrates Court to remove the road.
This is where the road would go: bye bye little one
All the time however, I knew that, given the twisty nature of the council, this stupid application would inevitably be passed despite all the lobbying I and the many wildlife organisations backing us had done, and the wonderful support we'd had from the local press. But sometimes, unbelievably, miracles happen. Two hours before I was due to appear, suited and booted in front of the committee, a Planning Wonk put in a call. The application had been pulled. The Head of Planning was 'dissatisfied with the Officer's report'.

They are now looking at it again, and 'may include a wildlife survey'. Or they may not, of course. Who knows? No admission of error, no acknowledgement that the report had more holes in it than Gorgonzola cheese, no apology for the glaring errors and deliberate omissions. Or the stress caused to local residents. So it seems we have a brief stay of execution while they faff around and try to extract themselves with enough credibility.

While we wait, I have submitted a formal complaint to the Monitoring Officer. I am in no doubt that it  will be ignored, and nobody will be held accountable. And then, like the Terminator, they will be back. What is it with these councillors? I am loth to speculate who they have got into bed with - but I certainly know who's getting screwed!

The PINK SOFA Welcomes Francis Potts

Francis Potts
Francis Potts is one of the many brilliant writers I have got to know on Twitter. Francis belongs to the merry band of  'blokes with plain blogs' - but despite this major drawback, remains cheerfully positive and upbeat about it. He has successfully published three ebooks: Flying Lessons (2011), Kissing the Abyss (2012) and Tilly Lake's Road Trip (2012). Francis is, among other things, a massage therapist and the PINK SOFA is pleased to report that it has just enjoyed a wonderfully relaxing massage at his hands and would highly recommend him to all stressed furniture also in need of a bit of R&R. In honour of the occasion, there are PINK iced cupcakes and PINK lemonade on the coffee table. Over to you, Francis.

''Moi, au canape rose. I'm honoured, though I suspect I'll get a clip round the ear from my glamorous hostess at some stage for some inadvertent remark.On the other hand, because I don't much like cake, I might earn some Brownie points for letting her eat it all.

Alors, moi. I've always been an eager reader. By the time I was seven, my primary school had run out of books I hadn't read. I haunted the public library and despised Enid Blyton for not being more productive. If she'd written the Boring Committee Meeting of Adventure I'd have read it. I also read a lot of nonfiction too, and I remember that the children's nonfiction shelves in the public library were optimistically labelled 'fact'.

Because of my day jobs as a software engineer (in the mornings) snooping at other people's data and as a massage therapist (in the afternoons) rubbing people better, I write mainly in the evenings and at weekends. I have a Samsung netbook, which is like a toy laptop, that I can take with me if I go away, or plonk on the arm of the sofa when I'm at home, and there are a number of little notebooks littered about the house for me to scribble down passing ideas before they vanish. I write something most days, but a lot of it is rubbish.

I write to entertain. I have a blog mostly devoted to sideways looks at the world. I like to think that people are entertained by it, if occasionally disappointed by the lack of PINK. As a writer, the big problem for me is fitting the entertainment into a story with a beginning, middle and an end, so my hard drive is littered with fragments of stories, sometimes novel-length fragments, waiting for an ending to come along. Tilly Lake's Road Trip ran to over 100,000 words before I realised what was going to happen in the end. I've got about 80,000 words of a sequel that I wrote last year, and it's only in the past couple of weeks that I've worked out where it'll go.

I'm self published because I originally tried a number of agents but with no success.For Flying Lessons I spent ages trying, one agent at a time, but for the Road Trip, I just sent it out to over a dozen agents, quickly got half a dozen 'no thank yous' followed by a few more 'no thanks' and some deafening silences. Flying Lessons, Kissing the Abyss and Tilly Lake's Road Trip are all unconventional love stories, so I suppose that makes me a romantic. Or perhaps a hopeless romantic. What they have in common is that they're driven by the characters. As for the main characters, I like to keep the numbers low. Flying Lessons has half a dozen main characters, Kissing the Abyss three, and Tilly Lake's Road Trip about ten.


Francis' latest bookSo, Tilly Lake. As a child, she dreamed that Price Charming would drive her round Britain in a pink car (Carol, nudge a pink car). At nineteen, she married John Lake, when he is found dead in a hotel room (on April Fool's Day) when she is 58 she decides to use the life insurance money to buy an American car (black not pink), hires a twenty-five year old Welshman and sets off to fulful her childhood dream...

When I'm not writing, I'm mostly working, sleeping or reading.I do like walking, but dislike going out in cold or wet weather. Sadly, even my shorter walks have been curtailed by the recurrent kidney infections that have hit me since last summer.

I read fairly eclectically. I like thrillers, chick-lit and mainstream fiction, and I read lots of Indie authors. If I had to name a favourite author, it would probably be John Irving. My ideal world would involve my lounging around somewhere warm, maybe on a shady marble terrace, with lots of intelligent and talented women who would chat, pour glasses of red wine and read to me. It doesn't seem to much to ask....which reminds me: I don't suppose you've got any wine, have you?

Flying Lessons: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Flying-Lesson...

Kissing the Abyss: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Kissing-The-A...

Tilly Lake's Road Trip: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Tilly-Lakes-R...

Contact Francis: http://www.francispotts.com  Twitter @fpotts

The PINK SOFA is pretty blissed out after its massage Francis, but thinks there might be some Babycham left over from the Christmas Party. While it sends out a search party to look for it, why not help yourself to cake and have a chat to Francis. He'll be staying around for a while.

A Novel Beginning

A quieter week at Hedges Towers. By the time you read this, the closing date for our objections to the local town council's sneaky planning application will have passed. Interestingly though, we have now discovered what one might euphemistically call an 'anomaly' on the actual application. 

Under the Wildlife and Ecology section, the council has declared that there are NO protected species who would be adversely affected by their road and the dumping of earth upon the adjoining Wildlife Site. Really? Not sure the Roman Snails (protected by law and IUCN Red listed) would agree with that.

Am I saying that the town council is a collective of mendacious offspring of unwed parents? Probably. Watch this space. We have made a formal complaint to the Planning Officer. Meanwhile, the frostbite continues to heal albeit slowly, thanks for asking, and the Roman Snails are still hibernating, unaware of the furore breaking over their innocent heads.

And so to the new novel. Those of you who have followed this blog from its inception last May know that one of the reasons I started blogging in the first place was to dissipate my anger over the inability of mainstream publishers to appreciate my enormous writing talents (sic), and publish the Victorian novel, coupled with frustration about my current publisher's refusal to commission a fifth Spy Girl book. I am a warning to all those writers who think that once you get an agent, fame and fortune will follow. Were it true, I'd be writing this on the terrazzo of my villa in Tuscany, with my pink Ferrari parked in the driveway.

The Victorian novel now nears its rewritten completion. It is called Diamond Girl and can be loosely summarized as: 'Orphaned 17 year old inherits priceless diamond after horrific murder of uncle. But dark and evil forces are waiting to steal it.' There are also more subplots than you could shake a stick at, two slightly pastiche detectives and a gigantic hound. It is probably best described as a 'homage' to the Victorian era, a kind of: 'Terry Pratchett and Charles Dickens go clubbing with practically every novelist from the period and they all have fun.' This is how it opens:

''London, 1860. Dreamworld of pain and pleasure, of fantasy and phantom. It is midnight, a full moon and a cold mist rising up from the river. Mist ghosts the masts of the sloops and Russian brigs waiting to unload their cargo. Mist curls itself possessively around sooty chimneys and rooftops. Mist gently fingers its way into fetid courts and alleyways, and the crowded tenements where a myriad Londoners toss and turn in troubled sleep.

Not everyone is sleeping though, in this vast city of many million souls. Strange shapes of men and women drift through the misty streets like ghostly apparitions. They gather outside dim gaslit haunts. Street corners are beset by night prowlers. The devil puts a diamond ring on his taloned finger, sticks a pin in his shirtfront and takes the air.

Look more closely. A solitary man is crossing Westminster Bridge. Tall and broad shouldered, he wears a top hat and an overcoat with wide lapels and a velvet collar. It is buttoned up against the chill night air. He walks with purpose, as if on his way to an important rendezvous. A gas lamp throws its shifting radiance upon the upper planes of his face; the lower part is covered by a knitted scarf, protection from the stinking miasma that rises from the oozing mud.

Footsteps approach from behind. Someone else is crossing the bridge, moving with incredible speed. Darkness clings to a misty outline, pools around feet that step from shadow into light and back into shadow. The figure stretches out a black gloved hand. Touches the man upon the left shoulder.

He turns. Freezes. Then cowers back, uttering a low cry of horror and covering his face with his arms. There is the sound of blows being struck, the shatter of bone. The thud of something heavy hitting the ground, followed by silence. Steps re-cross the bridge and echo into the distance. The man remains, lying motionless in the gutter, blood pooling beneath his broken body. A gas lamp flickers momentarily overhead, and goes out. ''

Feel free to comment. Next week, if they ever stop fighting on the landing, one of my elite selection of guests will be joining me upon the PINK SOFA for a chat. Don't miss it.

Mind the Gap!

As Chico Marx once memorably said: 'There ain't no sanity clause' (Duck Soup). There ain't no sanity line either. Or if there is, I now seem to have well and truly crossed it. 

It all started, so very innocently, last week Wednesday after lunch ...

I was leafleting the neighbourhood because the local council, who are so damn twisty you could upend them and use them to open wine bottles, have sneaked in a planning app for an 'access road' across our playing field, without waiting for the decision on the Town Green to be made. This is so that they can claim it was there all the time, and hey, even if it wasn't, they may as well use it now it is to service the development they are scheming to inflict upon us. 

Picture me therefore, in the cold and the snow and the ice (just building my part here), trudging the mean streets when whom should I meet but Bill the Builder.* So I stopped and we had a chat about things, and I said I was pretty sure there was an alternative route for the maintenance vehicles to get onto the field, which is what the council is claiming there isn't, which is why they have to build an access road, but I wasn't sure the road I had my eye on was wide enough at the end, where it narrows into an alleyway. And Bill the Builder said 'Carol, I'm sure you could get a 7 ft transit through that alley, and that's what the council ground staff use.'

Then I asked: 'What's a 7 ft transit?' And he gestured towards his builder's van and said, 'One like that.' And then I said, 'Really?' and he nodded, and I said, and I don't remember saying it but I must've because of what happened next, 'Can I borrow your van and see if it fits?' and he handed me the keys.

And the next minute, elderly white van woman was heading up the road towards the field. Arriving at my destination, I lined the van up with the alleyway and eased it down as far as the bollards at the end. Fitted a treat, with 6 inches to spare either side. Mission accomplished. Now all I had to do was back it out and return it to its rightful owner.

Which was when the not-properly-thought-out plan began to fall 
apart, because I had not factored in the effect of compacted snow and ice. The engine revved, the wheels spun, but the van wouldn't move. Every time I tried to back it out, it careened gently sideways. In the end, I just turned off the engine and sat staring out at the white wastes before me. I'd forgotten to bring my mobile, of course. Sic transit ....

But it transpires that there is a deity that looks out for lunatics. Unbeknown to me, three Lithuanian builders were working on a house in the road and had been watching my struggles from the scaffolding. Now they climbed down, and uttering the three finest  words in the (broken) English language: 'Ve haff rope,' they proceeded to dig away the compacted snow from behind my wheels. Then they lined up their own van, attached the rope between us and hauled me slowly out of the gap, cheering as the transit gained terra firma once more.

So have I told the local council that there is a better, cheaper alternative to their sneaky plan, that would only involve removing 2 bollards? I have. And have they listened? Oh please, come on ... you know the saying: rats always leave a sinking ship ? Round here where I live, the rats are in charge of it. Happy days.


*Name changed to protect his identity.

The PINK SOFA welcomes Pia Fenton

Pia Fenton (writing name: Christina Courtenay)


Pia is a member of the London Chapter of the Romantic Novelists' Association, which is where I first met her. (Yes, I know I don't write romantic novels, but they're a generous bunch and let oddballs like me hang out with them). Pia was kind enough to let me crash her blog to talk about my ebook, so I'm very pleased to return the favour, especially as she has a brand new novel, The Gilded Fan just published. The PINK SOFA asked Pia about her new novel, and to tell us a little about herself and her writing.

'' Many thanks for having me as your guest, Carol, it's great to be here on the PINK SOFA! Nice and squishy, isn't it? (The PINK SOFA just wishes to point out here that it has now got two NEW cushions, with tassels.) 2013 certainly started with a bang for me, with 2 Kindle releases almost within days of each other - one was a Regency novella (Once Bitten, Twice Shy), the other was The Gilded Fan, which will also be available in paperback from 7th Feb onwards.

I'm half Swedish/half English. I was born in England but moved to Sweden when I was only a year old, so my English dad and I learned Swedish together. We also learned to swim together in the summer house by the lake. Fun but pretty cold! I once swam in water that was only 16 degrees C. Brrrr!

As my family has just moved house, I don't currently have a fixed writing place - can't seem to find the ideal place, so I'm moving from room to room and trying different things. I think I need to buy a new desk and chair, then maybe I'll be more settled. Good thing I write on a laptop. One of my favourite parts of the writing process is coming up with names for my characters. I can lose myself in name books or on name blogs for hours on end, happily jotting down possibilities until I stumble on one that's perfect. And I read the credits at the end of films just to pick up new names.

The hardest part of writing for me in actually putting bum on seat. It's so easy to get distracted by social networking and reading other people's blogs, especially if the writing isn't flowing that day.
Pia's new novel
The Gilded Fan is set in 1641 and features what some people would call a 'kick-ass' heroine - a sword-wielding half-Japanese girl, trained in the arts of war.When Midori Kumashiro, the orphaned daughter of a warlord is told she has to leave Japan or die, sh has no choice but to flee to England. 

With atypically Japanese upbringing (being taught self-defence by her father and also the samurai code of honour) tempered by her English mother's foreign ideas, Midori was an interesting character to portray. She thinks herself the equal of any man. That is, of course until she meets the hero, Captain Nico Noordholt, a man like no other she's ever known. He has come to Nagasaki to trade and the last thing he wants is a female passenger, especially a beautiful one.

I have to confess I like alpha heroes and Nico is certainly one of those - big, blond, handsome in a rugged sort of way and capable of holding his own in most situations. He's used to getting his own way and not caring for anyone other than himself. When Midori gets under Nico's skin, he has no idea how to cope, which was perfect for my story. I had great fun writing about these two. Although they clashed instantly, that also had so much in common - I just had to make them realise it!

I'd love to know what other people think of 'Kick-ass' heroines - love them or loathe them? Choc Lit are offering a copy of the prequel The Scarlet Kimono (all about Midori's mother Hannah, another wilful heroine) to the best comment!''

The Gilded Fan (ISBN 978-1-78189-008-0)
Pia's website (including blog): www.christinacourtenay.co.
Twitter: @PiaCCourtenay

Thanks Pia - THE PINK SOFA loves Choc Lit - listen, any publisher with 'choc' in its name is a winner!

Pia will be staying around for a while, so do take a seat, help yourself to Japanese rice crackers and sake, and have a chat.

Nostalgia's so not what it was.

Where have all the tangerines gone? Shops used to be full of them. Now all you seem to be able to buy are those satsuma things that look like baggy oranges in need of botox. And they taste of nothing much. Tangerines tasted like concentrated essence of orange velvet dipped in sunshine. I always had one at the bottom of my Christmas stocking. Along with a half crown. Which reminds me - whatever happened to half crowns ... no, not going there, that way madness lies.

They say that in this life you are either a: 'glass half-full' or a 'glass half-empty' type of person, but increasingly I'm turning into a: 'this is my glass? I don't think so. My glass was much bigger and it had a pink cocktail umbrella and a small plastic shark' type of person as I sit in the writing garret contemplating the demise of western civilization.

Before that happens, followers of the Village Green campaign might like to know that I have now sent off the final submission. Piecing together the story of Westfield Common (as it was) has been like researching the plot of a detective novel. Sudden illuminating shafts of light, and a lot of hard slog. In the end, like all good detective plots, it all boils down to one tiny unnoticed clue: in this case, a comma in the 1925 Law of Property Act. 'The comma that did not bark in the night'. Actually, I think the whole  past two years would make a fascinating TV series in a small scale ''Miss Marple meets Borgen'' sort of way. They could even dub it into Danish - a language that always sounds to my ear remarkably like English minus the vowels. Not sure who'd play me. Helen Mirren comes to mind...

Meanwhile, while we are waiting for the Inspector to deliver his final verdict, we have put in a Freedom of Information request to find out exactly how much tax-payers' money has been shelled out by our elected officials to pay for Chummy to fight their own electorate. FOI's really annoy councils. Legally, they have to respond within a set period, whatever else is going on. We have put in a lot of FOI's over the years. The trick is to get five or six people to put in different FOI's at exactly the same time. That way the council officers who deal with them are so busy rushing around digging stuff out of files they don't have time to work out how to deny giving you everything you've asked for.

Mind you, even allowing for the fact that you never get back 100% of what you request, we've still discovered some very interesting stuff, because although the council redacts copiously, they don't know what exactly we're trying to find out, so there's always something they leave un-redacted that reveals stuff they don't know we want to know. Am I going to write a novel about this? Possibly.

It has certainly been shocking to discover the extent of cronyism, corruption and collusion that has been taking place behind the scenes here. And that's just at local level. Magnify it up to what probably goes on behind the scenes at national level and I am tempted to say we are all going to Hell in a handcart, except that I don't think handcarts exist any more. I certainly haven't seen one for ages. Gone the same way as tangerines and half crowns, I guess.

Next Week the PINK SOFA is dusted down and with a couple of lovely new sale cushions, welcomes its first guest of the year.

New Year Cheer

Plus ca change, as the French say - although they'd say it with the correctly applied accents, plus c'est la meme chose. I am reminded of this epithet as I gaze out of the window of the writing garret on a grey January morning, and see flocks of runners passing by below. It happens regularly at this time of year. As soon as the festivities are over, the decorations dismantled and the last of the chocs scoffed, the local citizenry stares at its waistline, realises that it no longer has one, and takes to the street.

By February, the streets will have returned to the usual hardy troupe of runners with their little headphones, water bottles strapped to their wrists, and determinedly- gritted-teeth expressions. Same with the TV adverts. The moment January arrives, some faceless marketing team decides that either I need to book my summer holiday now, this instant, or seems to think I have an insatiable desire to spend the next eight weeks learning how to construct a small lifelike replica of the Titanic out of cardboard (free iceberg with part one). The ultimate nadir was reached last night when I sat through at least six successive public advertisements telling me how to eat healthily, and presenting me with luscious fruit and veg, and fresh products. Meanwhile another local food bank has just opened up...
At the rehearsal


Bridal bouquet The 'cheese' cake.  Before I self-combust in the white heat of anger at the disconnect and rank hypocrisy of the current government, I thought I'd share something with you that certainly cheers me up, and I hope will bring a smile to your face, and a feeling of optimism in these grey dog-days of January.
Followers of Facebook/Twitter will know that DD got married on December 22nd so here are some snippets of the day and pre-day. They got married in the beautiful and historic 11th century church of St Bartholemew the Great, in Smithfield.

The church
The newly-married coupleIt rained the whole day, but somehow, the guests didn't notice. As you can see, they hired an old Routemaster to take us all on a trip round London visiting locations that were significant in their courtship. Oh - the dress? Bought at a Red Cross Designer Bridal sale. For the cognoscenti - it's an Emma Hunt bridal gown, should have sold at £3,500. A snip at £500 and the charity got the money. The shrug is vintage, as is the silver hair clip. There was Afghan food at the reception (DD spent 3 years out there), a sitar player, and a cake made out of delicious fresh cheeses (see pic).
Mr and Mrs
The most impressive aspect of the whole lovely day was the knowledge that DD had organised it all herself. A feat of not inconsiderable brilliance. Her ability to micro-manage big events and produce complex spreadsheets has not been inherited from my side of the family, believe me. As you all know, I am to technology what fish are to dentistry, and I do not see this state of affairs changing much in the future. Sadly.

And so, as we each pedal our unicycles of hope across the tightrope of destiny, juggling the beanbag penguins of optimism as we go, it only remains for me and the PINK SOFA to wish you all a belated, but Very Happy New Year.

  ****************************************************************************

The Conspiracy of Inanimate Objects

A vexing week at Hedges Towers. I think I am developing Copenhagen Syndrome. Every time something goes wrong, I find myself putting on a different jumper and thinking: 'what would Sara Lund do?' The new mobile phone is a case in point. I decided to upgrade to a new phone when the B H  E and U keys died on my ancient one, and the predictive text stuck on 'I am in the bar' rather than 'I am in the car'. Wrong impressions were being conveyed, I was having to think sideways every time I sent a text and my street cred was rapidly descending into the clown zone.

What I had failed to grasp however, was that mobile phone technology has moved on considerably since I bought my little silver 'mum-phone' many moons ago which means that currently, if you chose for so many reasons, most of them associated with sheer terror and no money, to lurk down the shallow end of the technology pool, your choices are few. Basically it was either the black Nokia one that looked almost but not exactly the same as my previous mobile, or the Hello Kitty phone with free pencil set. I chose the Nokia; I chose wrong.

Getting it out of the box was, in hindsight, the easy part. It then took me ages to unlock the keypad - simply couldn't get the Press * key to align with the Press Unlock key. By the time I'd mastered that, my faith in the ability to absorb new skills had melted away like snow in summer. Two days later, tentative progress has been made, despite the instruction booklet not being aimed at someone with technological skills so low you couldn't limbo under them. I still haven't worked out how to switch it off, though. (Am I the only person on the planet who turns off their mobile phone to save the battery? Apparently so.)

It's all part of what I see as the Conspiracy of Inanimate Objects, something I've observed is becoming worse as I grow older. Although the truth of that sentence could lie in the reverse premise. Whatever. Everything just seems to be getting proactively more annoying. For example, I'm fully expecting Sainsburys to post a notice any day banning me from the store, because I always end up rowing with the invisible purple gremlin inside the self-checkout till in a 'That's not an unidentified object in the bagging area - it's my SHOPPING, you stupid woman!' sort of way. I've noticed that assistants now seem to hover apprehensively whenever I approach.

In the same category is the Orange phone lady who tops up my pay-as-you-go account, and will not allow me to deviate from answering either 'yes' or 'no' to her questions. But my life is full of uncertainty, I wail, how can I possibly commit myself to only two possibilities? Is there no room for 'maybe'? At which point, she cuts me off and I have to restart the whole process from scratch. See what I mean?

 Before writing this post, I had to restore and reload Chrome, as it had decided to stroll off somewhere and commune with itself. Oh - and the printer is currently not working, despite kicking it, feeding it with paper and pressing all the buttons. Stuff that is supposed to make my life easier is by default managing to make it far more complicated. I am careening towards a farcical cliff. Time to break out another jumper?

The PINK SOFA welcomes Vanessa Wester

Vanessa Wester is one of the many lovely writers I met on Twitter. Not only is she a prolific writer, a mum of 3 and a witty Tweeter, she is also a great cook and makes lovely cakes and cupcakes, frequently posting luscious pictures on line to prove it. I asked Vanessa to share her writing journey with us. This is what she said:

''I used to write all the time as a child and then a teenager, but as with many things, I lost confidence and became convinced I was no good. It was in 2010, after I watched an interview with Stephanie Meyer that a switch flicked in my brain. I had permission to write - I was not being silly if I wrote. Lots of people did, why not me? I still sometimes revert to my old way of thinking, but I'm glad that a lot of people seem to disagree...

I usually write in our small study on my ancient (but hanging on) computer. Although I have to admit that I started with a notepad as I looked after my one year old, and then transferred it to my PC or laptop. I watched TV and wrote too. Recently, I used a notepad again for a short story. I have to admit that even though it takes longer, the ideas flow naturally, no distraction.


I self-published via Smashwords as I got fed up with wasting time and money posting manuscripts to agents. I got a lot of feedback from self-publishing, which was great, and prepared me for publishing on Amazon two months later, and Createspace a month after that. I actually feel like a publisher now! Recently, I've compiled a book of short stories with 7 other writers; it's called Out of Darkness. Proceeds will go to charity, and we intend to publish collections of seasonal shorts throughout the year. (The PINK SOFA likes the sound of this!) 

The best thing about writing is the complete and utter escapism that comes with it. Creating a new habitat and species (for The Evolution Trilogy) was great fun; it still is. The worst thing about writing (since I am self-published) is the EDITING. So, so hard ....
I stick to a word count of about 2,000 words per chapter, aiming for about 50 chapters, or a total length of 100,000. This was what I was told when I started asking for advice and I have to say it works for me.

The Evolution Trilogy is a SciFi romantic suspense trilogy that charts the way a university student, Steven Thorn finds out he is a Hybrid, and how his attempts to live a normal life and the decisions he makes affect the ones he loves. It started as a series, but I decided to stop after 3 books, with the option to continue in the future. The first book, HYBRID is available from Amazon and Smashwords (Barnes & Noble, Kobo etc). It is also on Smashwords. 

The second book, COMPLICATIONS, follows Steven to a community in the Amazon jungle, where he thinks he has found a safe haven. Steven does not intend to let his hybrid nature dictate who he is, but soon realises he wants his own life and his girl back. The book is just out on Amazon and Smashwords.''

Connect with Vanessa via: Twitter @vanessa_wester. 
Blog: www.vanessawesterwriter.blogspot.com.    http://shortstoriesgroup.blogspot.co.uk.
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/...

Thanks Vanessa. And a special thank you for bringing a lovely selection of tempting home made cakes and mince pies with you. I'm sure visitors to the writing garret are going to enjoy those! Vanessa is staying around to chat, so please join her on the PINK SOFA and find out more about her books.