M.J. Johnson's Blog, page 15

Another Good Welshman for St David's Day

The Richard Burton Diaries Edited by Chris Williams I'm posting my blog a day later than usual this week to coincide with St David's Day on 1 March. The man I've chosen needs absolutely no introduction from me: arguably the greatest Welsh actor ever, certainly the most charismatic and some say the finest British actor of his generation. I'm not here to argue his case; personally I found him worth watching even when he was in movies that might easily be described as pretty dreadful. Towards the latter years of his career there seemed to be a steady number of these films.

He was born in 1925 in Pontrhydyfen in the Afan Valley, South Wales. He was the twelfth child born to his parents and named Richard Walter Jenkins after his father who was a coal miner. Richard was just two years old when his mother Edith died of septicaemia shortly after giving birth to a younger brother Graham at the age of forty-four. A reminder of just how dangerous childbirth was until well on into the 20th century. The child Richard was taken into the home of his sister Cecilia and her husband Elfed in Tai Bach, Port Talbot. The teenage Richard formed a bond with his teacher and would-be mentor Philip Burton, who nurtured his talents, and whose name he would later adopt as his own. Towards the end of the war Richard joined the RAF and was accepted onto a short course programme at Oxford University where he starred in a production of Shakespeare's Measure for Measure. However by this time he had already made his professional debut as an actor in the play Druid's Rest by Emlyn Williams which ran in Liverpool and London. After being demobbed he resumed his acting career and in 1949 appeared in his first film role The Last Days of Dolwyn, again written by Emlyn Williams. He met and married his first wife Sybil at this time. There were to follow hugely successful seasons at Stratford and at the Old Vic, his performance as Henry V being highly acclaimed. In 1952 Richard Burton was nominated for his first Academy Award, however despite being nominated on a number of occasions it was an accolade he would never achieve. Burton would have four wives but be married five times, wedding Elizabeth Taylor twice. As a young man with a passion for the theatre growing up in South Wales just a few miles from where Burton had, I was mesmerised by the majestic power of his voice. I recall listening over and over to my recording of Burton as First Voice in the 1954 BBC recording of Under Milk Wood - still by far the best. As a teenager I also had LPs of him doing speeches from Hamlet and Henry V. I remember, aged thirteen, going with my mother to the Carlton Cinema in Swansea to see Alistair Maclean's wartime spy yarn Where Eagles Dare and Mam turning to me in the intermission to exclaim, "Blimey, it's exciting!" It still remains a firm favourite of my family's to this day. I also love Burton's performances in Becket, The Night of the Iguana, The Taming of the Shrew, The Spy Who Came in from the Cold and of course with Taylor again in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf. I still find myself loose-jawed to think that he didn't win for 'Woolf'' - however he did lose to Paul Scofield, an old friend from his early theatre days, who gave a fine performance as Sir Thomas More in A Man for all Seasons. Makes you wonder doesn't it, how many fine stage plays like these two make the transition to mainstream movies these days? Woolf is still a great movie, however the tragic daily routine of boozing and abuse between George and Martha is not easy to watch.

I am currently reading The Richard Burton Diaries edited by Chris Williams. I was given the book as a Christmas present from my son Tom and I am about a quarter of the way through this massive tome. They are a fascinating read so far. However I don't like to comment on books until I've completed them, so I shall no doubt be returning to the diaries in a future post.

I heard a story about Burton the proud Welshman once, that seems appropriate for St David's Day. He was on a car journey with his nephew (who was himself relating this story in a radio interview). They had stopped at a restaurant to have a meal, and at the end of this meal Burton was approached by another diner who told Burton that he'd heard he always wore the colour red about his person in honour of the Welsh dragon and his origins. Burton agreed that this was correct. The man said, "But Mr Burton, throughout my meal I've been studying you and you're dressed from head to toe in black!". Burton smiled, and unzipped the side of his Chelsea boot to reveal a red sock.

Richard Burton 1925 - 1984

Serendipity

This is a blog about serendipity and the role it plays in the creative process. It didn't start out that way. I woke up this morning and started to mull over in my mind a mental list (as I do every day) of what I wanted to achieve today. It was at this point that I decided I'd better write my weekly blog a day early because I promised my son I'd give him a hand with some set-painting tomorrow. I love set-painting - for me it's a bit like pretending to be an impressionist painter with really big brushes!

Anyway, 'serendipity': 'the occurence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.' To my way of thinking, without it, any kind of creativity would soon become moribund and stale. Some of the greatest developments in art probably owe more than a small debt of gratitude to it. Stephen King in On Writing is rather rude as I recall about writers who never waver from their plotting and don't allow the creative process itself to take over and light the way ahead. I totally agree, sticking rigidly to a pre-ordained plan effectively stifles creativity.

What on earth would all those thousands of tourists who jockey for a place at the Louvre around the painting of the Mona Lisa every single day do if Leonardo had declared, "Sorry love, but you're smiling again. I can't paint you smiling - nobody does smiley portraits!" (but of course he'd have said it in Renaissance Italian).

In Raiders of the Lost Ark, Indiana Jones is confronted by a huge Arabian swordsman who, after drawing his scimitar, gives a bravura display of his skill to instill fear in his adversary. When this scene was shot, Harrison Ford, seeing the comedic potential of the moment, simply drew his gun from its holster and shot the swordsman. I recall the moment brought the house down at the Odeon Leicester Square. Spielberg didn't say, "Very funny Harrison, but now let's do the fight as it is in the script!" because he knew his leading actor had given him something hilarious, unexpected and far better than the fight we all anticipate is about to happen.

In August 2006 my wife and I visited my mother for a week or so. One of the features of our six-weekly trips to Wales was taking a daily walk. Sometimes my mother used to complain that she was feeling a bit tired. "Come on!" we'd say, "You don't want to miss out on an opportunity to have a nice walk." Later on, after the walk, she would invariably tell us how much good it had done her. One sunny afternoon we drove up to Cefn Bryn on the Gower Peninsula. Just to the north of the ridge summit at Cefn Bryn is a Neolithic burial site known as King Arthur's Stone, which is definitely worth a visit if you've never seen it. However, on this occasion we travelled in the opposite direction along the ridge towards Penmaen with its stunning views across Oxwich Bay and (my personal favourite) Three Cliffs Bay.

The photograph that inspired this blog was taken at the very end of our walk when we were on our way back to the car. I wasn't wearing my glasses, so looking into the small viewing panel on my camera would have been a waste of time. I just knew that what I was looking at would make a great photograph. I literally took the camera out of its pouch on my belt, pointed it in the right direction and snap! Dairy Ice I took several pictures in rapid succession but only this one, the first, was any good. In the subsequent shots the cow had moved its head or the ice-cream eaters had become conscious of their companion. I honestly don't know why this picture works, but it's a photograph that has certainly made everyone who I've shown it to smile. Let's see - a milk producer approaching a purveyor of frozen milk whilst surrounded by people enjoying cones of frozen milk? (Analysis paralysis!)

Who knows and who cares!

The Chronicles of Ancient Darkness by Michelle Paver

I always find the dark months of January and February a bit of an ordeal, so over the last week or two I've been revisiting a series of books I first read and enjoyed a few years back to help keep my spirits up. As I've probably mentioned before, I read every single day. The practice has remained a constant pleasure in my life since childhood. I recall a teacher at the grammar school I went to delivering a little speech to us new boys on the merits of literature (all the teachers at my school liked to present a speech from time to time - I reckon one or two of them might have made it as orators in Ancient Greece!). The teacher's nickname was 'Charlie Biol', not terribly imaginative considering we were grammar school boys, his first name was Charles and he taught Biology. However, what he told us on a drizzly afternoon in Wales, as he covered for our regular teacher who was off sick, has remained with me ever since. He said, "Always have a book ready to hand, boys. Because if you have a good book, then you'll never be short of a friend."

In my house we share every room with quite a large assortment of 'friends'. However they're not all my very own papery-chums, my wife reads too and tends to process a page of writing about three times as fast as I do and therefore tends to polish off triple the number of books. I always pay attention when she recommends a book because she has a really good idea of what I like. I don't often read children's fiction but will whenever Judith gives a book a big thumbs-up.

This is how I came to discover the Chronicles of Ancient Darkness books by Michelle Paver. They are set right at the end of the Stone Age and follow the courageous efforts of a boy called Torak to bring to an end the powerful hold that a group of evil mages known as the Soul Eaters has over the clans of his ancient forest home. The stories move at  quite an incredible pace. By the end of chapter one of the first book Wolf Brother, Torak is all alone in the world. He soon meets the character Wolf as a tiny cub, only survivor of a flood that killed the other wolves in his den. They team up with Renn, a girl from the Raven Clan who can shoot an arrow straighter than just about anyone, and the three of them together take on the might of the Soul Eaters. Paver has studied Stone Age cultures and tribal ritual and has imagined a world for us that is both rich and vivid. She presents us with a picture of a society as it might have been, certainly ought to have been. The people in Paver's world have a deep inner life that revolves around the seasons, customs and superstitions of the world they inhabit, living lives that are just as full and meaningful to them as ours are for us. For modern children she makes it relevant and topical, without ever lapsing into cliche or 'caveman speak', and touches on conservation and ecological issues without ever sounding preachy.

Both times I read this series I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I have my favourites of course (the first, third and sixth books I personally liked best) but all are excellent. If these books had been available when I was a child I would have adored them. They are entitled and run in this order: Wolf Brother, Spirit Walker, Soul Eater, Outcast, Oath Breaker and Ghost Hunter.

Give them to a child you know, or, read them yourself!

NaHCO3

My wife Judith just can't help herself when something readable gets offered to her. She used to work in a large school with quite a good library and from time to time they would chuck-out some of their old books. Guess who would then appear on our doorstep, most of her torso hidden but eyebrows arched excitedly behind a stack of hefty tomes?

One of her favourite free papers is the Waitrose Supermarket's Living newspaper available at their checkouts. She generally scours the articles in the current issue after the shopping has been put away and we sit down at the kitchen table with a celebratory cup of tea.

"This reminds me of your Mam, " she said.

"Huh?"

"It's all about bicarbonate of soda!"

She needed to make no further explanation because I knew exactly what she meant. My late mother had great faith in bicarbonate of soda. The article Judith was referring to was in the 24 January issue of Living and described a new book entitled The Miracle of bicarbonate of Soda by Dr Penny Stanway. I haven't read the book myself and this isn't meant to be any kind of review, but I must say the book looks pretty interesting and offers 144 pages of tips on how to use this baking ingredient for a wide variety of health, beauty and domestic uses.

For most of my adult life I must admit that I viewed my mother's faith and devotion to "Bicarb" as one of her amusing peculiarities. If she didn't have any milk or flour or even money in the house, she would view this with characteristic phlegm, a minor irritation easily resolved whenever she felt like popping out to the shops or bank. On the other hand, to run out of "Bicarb" was by no means a situation that could under any circumstances be taken lightly - immediate action was required! Over her lifetime of eighty-eight years, and I'm making a conservative estimate here, I suspect she consumed her own body weight in it. She had no time for anything edible and green unless it had been tenderised with half a teaspoon of B o S (this meant boiling until the poor vegetable was way beyond the point of bearing any physical resemblence to its original form). The best cure for heartburn according to Mam was a good dose of "Bicarb"; any burns received in the line of duty of cooking were immediately run under cold water and then powdered well with, yes, you guessed it! It was in her view also highly efficacious for relieving sunburn. She even suggested inhaling small amounts mixed in water for clearing catarrh and sinuses (I was amazed to discover that bicarbonate of soda has indeed been used in commercially prepared nasal decongestants!)

Nahcolite as it is apparently called in its natural form is a component of natron which was used by the ancient Egyptians as a kind of soap, as well as being an important ingredient in the process of mummification (which we all know the Egyptians were into in quite a big way!). I did a little bit of research for this blog into bicarbonate of soda and goodness me the stuff is truly miraculous. It has literally hundreds of uses, cooking, cleaning, medical  - the stuff can even be used to smother a small fire because when it gets hot it releases carbon dioxide.

So there you have it, you should have learnt two things from reading this blog: bicarbonate of soda is a pretty amazing thing, and always pay attention to what your Mam says!

Lastly, speaking as someone who has always had problems with gluten, just imagine how leaden an onion bhaji would turn out without you know what? Tell you what, I'm checking the kitchen cupboard straight away!

Vlaho Bukovac

View from Atelier Window, Cavtat I thought I might do an occasional blog piece about museums/interesting places I've visited that may not always get the attention they deserve. I mean, there's little or no point at all in me singing the praises of really well known tourist spots is there? Let's face it, finding out about somewhere that's well-known is a bit like trying to get a book about one of the top-twenty artists - basically, just pop along to any remaindered bookshop and I can almost guarantee they'll have books on Van Gogh, Monet, Manet, Gaugin, Cezanne, Rodin, Vermeer and all the other usual suspects. However, the work of so many exceptional artists is often astonishingly badly represented on our high streets.

How about the work of Vlaho Bukovac for instance? Unless you've been to Dubrovnik you've quite possibly never heard of him. His family home was only sixteen km from Dubrovnik in the beautiful coastal town of Cavtat. He was born there in 1855 and from his earliest years showed a definite precociousness as an artist. In 1877 he went to Paris where he was swiftly accepted as a talent. He travelled widely in his lifetime, however Bukovac retained his link with Cavtat all his life. He took a post as professor of fine Art in Prague in his late forties and spent the final twenty odd years of his life working there before his death in 1922. He was prolific and produced over 2000 works of art in his lifetime. Two Nudes From His Time in Paris During his life his work attracted the interest of a couple of Northern British Industrialists, the LeDoux and Fox families of Liverpool and Harrogate. The National Museum, Liverpool and the Mercer Art Gallery, Harrogate still have examples of his work which you can see by following this link http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/yourpaintings/artists/vlaho-bukovac

There is however a feast of Bukovac's work in various churches and galleries around Dubrovnik. It's possible to see some very good paintings of his at the excellent Museum of Modern Art, Dubrovnik. But for my money, and best of all, is to see his work in his own charming house at Cavtat where you can enjoy a large number of his paintings from just about every period of his life (even childhood doodles!). His painting ability was really exceptional, somehow managing to combine a light impressionistic touch with an almost photographic quality. A Late Self-Portrait of Vlaho Bukovac


If you're not planning a Croatian holiday in the near future, then why not search images for Vlaho Bukovac on Google?

Definitely worth a look!

The Magistrate

The wife and I have been fans of the actor John Lithgow for many years, probably since we took our son to see Bigfoot and the Hendersons when he was a lad. It's always a bonus to discover this actor's in the cast of any movie we're about to watch. His TV sitcom 3rd Rock from the Sun, in which he plays Dick Solomon, the leader of a group of aliens on an undercover mission to study human behaviour (invariably putting two and two together and making five!) remains an all time favourite of ours. So, when we discovered that John Lithgow was going to take the title role in the National Theatre's production of The Magistrate we were with child ( as the old saying goes!). We considered booking tickets and seeing a performance at the National Theatre itself, but eventually decided to watch it in the NT Live season. This was a wise decision as it turned out, because December and early January were pretty hectic for us and, as I've said before, being able to see great live theatre transmitted onto our local cinema screen is to my mind a wonderful opportunity.

The Magistrate, a farce by Arthur Wing Pinero (1855 - 1934) was written in 1885. Although hugely successful in his day, with over fifty plays to his name and being only the second person to be knighted for services to British theatre, his popularity had already waned somewhat by the end of his lifetime. I have only ever seen one other Pinero play myself, his comedy Dandy Dick which I saw at the Churchill Theatre Bromley many years ago and which featured my late father-in-law James Hayter among its cast.

This NT Live performance of The Magistrate was truly a delight from start to finish. Lithgow and Nancy Carroll, who is equally comic as his wife Agatha, are supported by an excellent cast in this enjoyable production, directed by Timothy Sheader. The set is designed like a pop-up book and works very nicely along with some quite exotic hair designs and costumes. The scenes are introduced by a chorus of strangely stylised characters who look like they've escaped from a Gilbert and Sullivan opera, singing lyrics written by Richard Stilgoe. This was the National Theatre's Christmas show and it is very much meant to be enjoyed. It seems unsurprising to me that farce is firmly back in vogue again - in these economically fraught times, we all need something to give us a good laugh! We watch the characters in Pinero's play wriggle and squirm and attempt to extricate themselves from the little white lies they have told, which instead of disappearing, simply multiply and grow.The great artifice of the farceur is to make one error/misjudgement build into a house of cards that defies gravity as it increases in size to monstrous proportions and deliciously teeters in mid-air before our very eyes. Farce is a theatrical-form that the German word Schadenfreude ought to have been invented for!

We watched this show last Thursday evening at the Odeon, Tunbridge Wells, Kent. It was quite unusual, but a real joy, to hear, all around us, the normally reserved Tunbridge Wellians roaring with laughter. The Magistrate is still on at the National Theatre until 10 February and will be broadcast to cinemas around the world at various times over the next few weeks. My Twitter pal, Susy, has booked to see it in Brisbane shortly. She hadn't realised that the NT Live performances extended outside of the UK, and when she checked on their website she was pleasantly surprised to find a venue nearby. I'm sure they'll enjoy it. I can highly recommend it!

Mixed media!

Last week I made a comparison between a recent film version of a well loved children's classic and its book. The film of The Hobbit compared unfavourably in my view. The book is an acknowledged children's classic, a humorous, imaginative and richly entertaining read. The movie, despite being available to watch in 3D, I must confess to finding fairly one-dimensional and rather long-winded. A shame, because I'd loved Lord of the Rings and I've been a fan of Peter Jackson's since his low-budget horror days.

This week I'm doing the same thing again - looking at a film and a book - but with a grown up thriller this time - Headhunters by Jo Nesbo. This time, I liked the film of Headhunters slightly more than I did the book. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed reading the book, although I did have several strong reservations about it. I completed it last September and this is the brief review I left on my Goodreads Book Page:

Enjoyable, escapist read. A little difficult at times to suspend my disbelief because so many bad things happen so swiftly to the protagonist - but a great deal of fun! A little slow and awkward I thought initially.

I recall finding the first fifty pages quite difficult to read. Roger Brown, the book's protagonist, is not an immediately likeable character, although by the end of the book I'd acquired a certain admiration for him. Fifty pages is normally my cut-off point; if I'm not enjoying myself I simply put the thing down and pick up something else - I decided some years back that life's far too short to muddle through books I don't like! However, this was an occasion when I read on simply because I trusted the brand. Jo Nesbo has invariably seen me through to the end of each of his books with a smile on my face - sometimes a grudging or rather bemused one if I feel he's used a sleight of hand that wandered too far below the belt - but really and truly, who cares? This isn't Marcel Proust! I'm not reading it to improve my understanding of the human psyche. Nesbo is a thriller-writer at the very top of his game. With Headhunters I continued beyond my own fifty pages rule, reading about a protagonist I didn't much care for, simply because I believed Nesbo would pull it off - and he did! ... But only just!

I think the film (watched on DVD) was in many ways more engaging than the novel. I suppose one of the major differences between a book and a film is that a tale requiring fifteen thousand words to establish itself, can in a film be adequately explained in just a few minutes of visual shorthand. This was definitely the case with Headhunters. The movie has a terrific pace, also the plot alterations they'd made were in my view entirely for the better, successfully making Roger Brown (the main character) far easier to sympathise with than he ever was in the book. The producers also managed to instil quite a few moments of humour (usually dark) into the unfolding story. The violence in the film is done well too I think, and to my mind wasn't simply gratuitous. However, if squeamish, be warned it does contain a few brief but gory images, necessary to the development of the plot.

I think this was the first movie I've ever seen in Norwegian!

The Hobbit by J R R Tolkien

Our well-thumbed copy! The Hobbit by JRR Tolkien, or to give it its full title, The Hobbit, or There and Back Again, was first published in 1937. It has remained popular ever since and rightly deserves its position amongst the classics of children's literature. I started reading it (third time) after seeing the film version shortly before Christmas. I can't remember exactly when I first read it, but I think it was quite possibly after I'd already read The Lord of the Rings (I know, not in the right order!), so I'd have been in my late teens I suspect. The second time I read it was aloud to my son Tom when he was seven or eight as a bedtime story. Once we'd finished it he declared it was the best story he'd ever heard. This success had bitter-sweet consequences for me, because once his imagination had been fired-up, for a couple of years afterwards my services were required to assist in the figure-painting of dozens of dwarves, elves, goblins, trolls and orcs. I even went on to read the whole of The Lord of the Rings to him (he was twenty-three by the time I finished - only joking!).

On reflection though, I think he probably got by far the most out of The Hobbit because the story is so satisfyingly child-sized. I can still recall his whoops and giggles of delight when Gandalf confounds the Trolls, Tom, Bert and William, who are most satisfyingly none too bright, by imitating their voices. They are misled by the wizard into a series of entertaining arguments about how they should prepare and cook their captive thirteen dwarves and one hobbit, but he tricks them into staying up too late, so when dawn arives they get turned to stone. From a child's perspective, the story of The Hobbit must be a highly rewarding experience. Its reluctant hero, Bilbo Baggins, is the size of a child and initially doesn't consider himself a likely candidate at all to be involved in a great adventure along with bigger folk. Yet, after a difficult journey with many set-backs, he discovers himself to be not only resourceful but also loyal and brave. Bilbo is required to apply his wits in many dangerous situations and he goes on to rescue his companions and save the day on more than one occasion.

I was surprised when I learnt that the story had been made into three films. However, I really loved The Lord of the Rings trilogy, am a big Peter Jackson fan and therefore looked forward excitedly to The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. But I have to say I am one of those, and I believe there are quite a number, who were not entirely delighted with the result. I thought Martin Freeman and the cast were excellent by the way, and the film itself always looks superb. However, I don't like the way The Hobbit has been converted into a three part prequel to The Lord of the Rings. As I sat in the cinema, an expression widely sported by journalists and politicians a few years back kept springing to mind - the term is 'Sexed-up'. It's actually a phrase I didn't like then and one that I still don't like, but I have to say it seems appropriate here. If the vastly more complex three books that comprise The Lord of the Rings could be made into a satisfying trilogy, then to my mind, there is no compelling reason, artistically at least, for extending The Hobbit into three parts. It made me feel a little sad, because a small gem of children's literature has been made (at its best) into a fairly predictable Hollywood blockbuster, and at times descends into being little more than an expensive trailer for a computer game.

I guess to a movie mogul my views would be considered irrelevant and probably naive. The film version of The Hobbit is already one of the highest grossing films of 2012 and will no doubt eventually take its position as one of the most successful film trilogies ever made. I doubt they'll lose any sleep over the tickets I shan't be buying for parts two and three. But if you want to do your kids or grand-kids a big favour - read the book to them before they get to see the film - believe me, the pictures are far more various and colourful in a child's imagination.

Resolutions!

St Leonards seafront - 1 January, 2013 I don't do New Year resolutions. Throughout my twenties and thirties I vowed every New Year's Eve that from 1 January I'd give up smoking and amend my ways in whatever areas I felt I needed some correction. I generally survived as a non-smoker to about lunchtime, however my determination to wrestle my shortcomings was seldom abandoned so lightly - firm-jawed and with an iron-like resolve, I would stay the course - invariably I made it til at least tea-time!

In my experience, resolutions simply don't work.

I did eventually manage to give up smoking I'm pleased to say, once I realised I had to get some help with it. I think that was the secret - seeking the necessary help! I can't say that I've personally ever got far by utilising 'will-power' to get rid of any of my bad habits. It's more a matter of coming to terms with the problem, and being willing to raise the white flag of unconditional surrender. You see if I believed that it was 'will-power' that saved me from being a smoker, then that same 'will-power' might easily convince me (just as it did for over two decades!) that being in control of my own destiny I could take 'just one puff' any time I chose with total impunity. It is my firm belief that willpower alone is the addict's enemy, and not (as is often believed) his ally.

So what's all this about resolve and determination got to do with my first blog post of the New Year? Simply this, that I know better than to make any personal prophecies about what is going to happen in 2013. It's certainly my aim to continue writing both in novel form and in my blog, I hope to sell some more books and mean to bring out Roadrage very shortly. However, que sera sera - whatever will be will be (better add a note here - a chap can easily give the wrong impression by quoting the lyrics of Doris Day songs!) - but seriously, what I'm trying to say is that how things evolve in this life is, to quite a large extent, out of our control. I plan to get up each day in 2013 (just as I did in its ancestor 2012) and do whatever work lies before me. However, I feel a lot more comfortable when I don't also take on the role of the deity and concern myself too much with the outcome of my endeavours - that happens to be the Universe's business, not mine!

I spent 2012 building a platform for my writing, here on my website as well as on Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads, Shelfari and other places on the internet. And I could probably get extremely discouraged if I looked back at how much effort that has taken in comparison to whatever small gains I've made. I read something this morning on Facebook that was posted by a fellow indie author who was bemoaning her fate. I can appreciate her frustration; she has received literally dozens of glowing reviews for her books of women's fiction, yet continues to trail behind the kind of 'fluffy trivia' the publishing houses can be relied upon to churn out and hard-sell for Christmas. If I'd set myself an over-ambitious target at the start of 2012 I'd almost certainly be pretty down-hearted at this time. As it is, I feel pretty much okay about things. Yes I'd be delighted if I'd managed to sell out a couple of print-runs and done a hundred thousand downloads or something exceptional like that! However, being realistic, up until eight months ago, nobody (not even the people who know me) had ever read anything I'd written. In less than a year, with a lot of help from my wife, my son and a few generous individuals, I have actually published my first book and managed to become a small (albeit an infinitesimally tiny) literary presence. Thanks entirely to the internet I have now been read by people who would never have even heard of me before, right across the globe. Frankly, isn't that just totally incredible?

Thank you for dropping by my blog, and for taking the time to read this post. I sincerely hope you'll want to return here again. I wish you and yours good health, happiness and prosperity throughout the forthcoming year.

May 2013 bring peace, hope, kindness and reconciliation in our often troubled world!

End of Another Year!

The weather is wet, quite mild and when you consider the time of year, it's quite unseasonal really. Rather than huddling together in front of the log fire we find ourselves taking clothes off, opening windows and turning the central heating down. All those pictures in our heads of sleigh bells gently jingling in the snow seem to have gone totally awry this year. We rarely have snow on the ground on Christmas Day in this part of the UK anyway, but it's generally a fair bit colder. Even so, that idea we've been sold through countless books, tunes and movies, of the yuletide being eternally 'white', still persists (in the mind at least!).

Actually, the weather has fallen in line very neatly with the opening chapter of my shortly to be published psychological thriller Roadrage, which opens on a motorway on Christmas Day in torrential rain. Unlike Niedermayer & Hart it doesn't have any kind of supernatural element, but I honestly think it's quite a scary story. The people who test out my work for me before I 'let it loose' and who I trust implicitly, all seem to be in agreement about this. However, I suspect there's no way of knowing exactly how readers will react to it until they actually start reading for themselves - if this kind of prophecy had ever been possible then the big publishing houses would have it all completelysewn up, there would never be any unexpected surprises and every book that ever reached publication would be a number-one bestseller! Anyway, Roadrage is ready and waiting to be finally proofed, formatted and sent off to the printers. I'll be posting more about it in the New Year.

Yesterday (25 December) we were invited to my son and his girlfriend's new house and we enjoyed Christmas lunch with quite a large group of family and friends. It was a proper festive occasion and there was a good deal of leg-pulling and good natured banter - I think we all had a really lovely time (and ate too much!). Today my wife and I have taken things quietly and this afternoon we watched a DVD of 'That's Entertainment', the film made in the 70s to celebrate the first fifty years of MGM musicals. I was eighteen or nineteen and training at RADA when it first came out, yet I am just as mesmerised by its cast of stellar performers today as I was back then - real class never looks dated!

My first book Niedermayer & Hart received its fourteenth consecutive 5* review on Amazon UK yesterday - a bonus christmas present! Reviews are of course absolutely vital to the indie/self-published author, so if you have enjoyed a book (even if it wasn't mine!), please always consider leaving a comment. I have less reviews on Amazon.com but strangely a lot more 'Likes' (comparatively speaking) - seems Americans are far more eager than their British counterparts when it comes to 'hitting' the 'Like' button. It's quite important statistically apparently, or so I am lead to believe, therefore I ask you, if you have enjoyed reading my book (or any book for that matter) to click on the 'Like' button too.

May you enjoy what remains of this festive period, and when the New Year finally arrives I hope you are able to welcome it in amongst friends and those you love. I am sure it is widely wished for that 2013 be a year characterised by hope, peace and generosity of spirit - let's all put our best foot forward and try our hardest to make it so!