Lance Greenfield's Blog, page 97
January 1, 2015
Great feedback but no reviews
One of the best was from an American author who told me that he was sucked in from the start, and read the whole book in two sessions, staying up until 3 am and 2 am on consecutive nights.
Many others have said that they love the story and the way that it is told.
What I need is for a few reviews to be published.
Still, I suppose it is early days, and I must be patient.
Double parkrun
A good start to 2015 at Andover parkrun (5 km in 27:18) followed by Newbury (Greenham Common Airfield) parkrun (5 km in 27:02 – a new PB!).
To make my day even better, the men of the Tangerine Machine beat the boys from across Dens Road by SIX goals to two! To be clear……
DUNDEE UNITED 6 DUNDEE 2
Newbury parkrun NYD 2015
Andover parkrun NYD 2015
December 31, 2014
Top Notch Omelette
Fifteen years ago, I celebrated the opening of the New Millennium by standing in the sea in Grenada, wearing my kilt, raising a glass of whisky to my dear, recently departed, Mum. This is my record of the end of that holiday of a lifetime.
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“Oo dare to order plain omelette from zee keetchen of zee greatest chef in zee ‘ole Caribbean?!” yelled Jean-Paul at the terrified Grenadian waiter, waving his hot spatula inches from the poor boy’s nose.
“Twenty years of ‘ard graft in zee ‘ottest restaurants in Paree so I can prepare zee best New Year Gala Dinner menu ever seen in zees ‘emisphere, to be insulted by some reech American touriste!”
Five days later, most of the guests had departed and Jean-Paul sat chatting to the friendly, unassuming British couple who remained.
“No, no. Please. I like to ‘ear zee feedback,” insisted Jean-Paul.
“Well, it might please your guests if you could mix your haute cuisine with some laid-back Caribbean,” suggested the gentleman, tentatively. “For example, my wife resorted to just a plain omelette on New Year’s Eve.”
“Ah! YOU are zee geelty wan!” exclaimed Jean-Paul, leaping to his feet, waggling his finger threateningly in the direction of the terrified lady’s face.
My debut novel – Eleven Miles
My debut novel – Eleven Miles.
I couldn’t leave 2014 without re-sharing this news. I am so proud of my first novel! Please read it and give me feedback and reviews to encourage me to write some more.
Consequences of Cancer and its Treatment
I am very proud of my sister’s achievements.
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Diana Greenfield
Macmillan Nurse Consultant and Clinical Lead in Late Effects for Teenagers and Young Adults, Sheffield Teaching Hospitals Foundation Trust
Honorary Senior Lecturer (University of Sheffield).
Diana Greenfield is a clinical academic with more than 20 years experience and an international reputation. She is a strong advocate for nursing, believing that by adopting a holistic approach and promoting wellness it is possible to make a difference to people’s lives.
Diana’s extensive research portfolio centres on supportive interventions for living with and beyond cancer (especially for younger adults) and models of care for follow-up, and she leads a “late effects” research programme.
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Click on the following link for the complete article.
http://www.cancerconsequences.org/diana-greenfield-profile.html
Chess made simple . . . and Pink!
This is how I explained the game of chess to a lady radio presenter (Charlie Crocker) who loves to laugh and loves the color pink even more. She kept telling her listeners that she had never been able to understand chess, so I thought I’d help her out.
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Imagine that you are a Queen in medieval times. You live in a square continent that has only two countries. All the people in your country dress in one colour. I think that PINK would be ideal, don’t you?! All the people from the other nation dress in YELLOW because that is also such a jolly colour.
You are the PINK Queen.
Of course, you are married to a wonderful, PINK King who must be protected at all costs. Naturally, you are much more powerful than your dear King. You can move as many steps in any direction as you like. Your King can also move in any direction, but only one step at a time. Poor chap!
Your country has an army with only eight foot soldiers, all of them dressed in PINK. They are led by you and your King, and you are supported by two PINK Bishops, two PINK knights and two mobile, PINK castles (a bit like tanks in the modern army). They are all dressed in PINK including the horses that the knights ride around on.
The YELLOW nation are similarly configured.
All of the soldiers, bishops, knights and castles are constrained in the way that they move, but don’t bother about that. They know the rules, and YOU are the Queen.
Your army moves around the continent, trying to capture the YELLOW pieces of the foreign army, whilst avoiding capture themselves.
You win by cornering the King of the YELLOW nation so that, whichever way he moves next, remembering that he can only walk one step at a time, he would be captured by a member of your army on the next move.
But watch out! YOU will lose if the YELLOW army corners YOUR PINK King first!
Is that plain enough for you?
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When Charlie read this out on her radio programme, she laughed so much that she could hardly speak. But she admitted that she finally had the understanding of the beautiful game that she had desired for so long
December 30, 2014
Golly
“LANCE!”
“Yes, Mummy.”
“Who spilt this lemonade on the bedroom floor?”
“It was Golly, Mummy.”
“I had a funny feeling that you were going to say that, Lance.”
“Well it WAS Golly, Mummy.”
“Yes. It always IS Golly, isn’t it?”
Golly had been my best friend and constant companion ever since I left hospital, after being born, almost five years ago. He was about three times my size then, and must have shrunk a lot in that time, because he was now only slightly bigger than me. The great thing about Golly was that he had always happily taken the blame for anything that I’d done wrong. He had kept me out of serious trouble on countless occasions.
One Thursday, just before my fifth birthday, my Daddy came home from work in time for his tea. He frowned at me as I greeted him. “Where is Golly, Lance?”
“I threw him in the bin, Daddy.”
“Oh dear! But I thought he was your best friend. He’s ALWAYS with you.”
“Yes. But he was REALLY naughty today, Daddy.”
“Why? What did he do?”
“He kicked my football through the kitchen window!”
My Daddy just couldn’t be angry. All he could do was laugh.
The Last Tuesday
I have just started my blog in the last few days. Eloise has really been a great help and inspiration. I hope that I can share similar sentiments regarding my blog when the end of 2015 approaches. Perhaps Eloise the author will be rich by then, and I’ll be on my way!
Originally posted on Thoughts by Mello-Elo:
The dying rays of a cold Tuesday sun is reflecting off the walls and mirror in my cosy dining room as I send out this message to the bloggosphere. I’m counting down the few hours left before we say farewell to another year that has been incredible to say the least.
When I first started blogging in February this year, I was terrified that no-one would read what I had to say. That awkward embarrassed silence of the world ignoring me! Instead I met the most interesting, loving, inspirational friends and associates who have been instrumental in pushing me forward as I venture into the world of writing.
The Hubble and I had agreed that if my books did not sell or attract interest by the end of this year I would have to look for a job to help support the family. It was a fair agreement. Thanks to…
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Review: A Woman with (no) Strings Attached
A Woman with (no) Strings Attached by Lucie Novak
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
I enjoyed this book. It was different. It is certainly erotica, but in a different form to that which I have previously read. It is an autobiography of a woman who suddenly releases a sexual side of herself which she never even knew was locked inside her.
Lucie is a family doctor from Prague. Her husband was a bit of a rotter. Her long-term lover, Tom, is a bit of a voyeur and is complicit, from afar, in her sexual adventures. She sets herself up for no-string-attached sex via an online dating site. Tom helps her to define her provocative profile, and even writes some of her correspondence with her online sex partners.
She has some fantastic times, and describes them very explicitly. She also gets into a bit of trouble from time to time, mainly when she ignores Tom’s experienced advice. There seemed to be more sad times in Lucie’s life than good times, but I think that is because, in this book, she held back on telling us about those wonderful parts of her life.
There is quite a lot in the text to make you laugh.
Lucie’s writing style is, and I use the word again, different, but I find it difficult to say how. Perhaps it is the Czech spin on her English. I don’t know. But the little quirks make it attractive to read.
Some of the descriptions of sexual acts are very arousing indeed, and fire up the imagination to very high temperatures. Other descriptions are a little clinical, but then, she IS a doctor!
The only niggle that I had was her repetition of “my sexual revolution.” It became a cliche. I suppose that, to be fair, that’s what this book is about. I did a count of the phrase, and it was only used eighteen times..
In summary, this is a good debut I hope that Lucie will write some more. Maybe she should have a go at expanding just one of her sexual adventures into a full blown novel which is total fantasy. If she does, I hope that she injects more of her wicked sense of humour.
Gone!
I don’t often attempt to write poetry. It is a beautiful craft, and I am but a novice. I admire, and envy, the skill and passion of great poets such as Elizabeth Barrett Browning. But occasional life events inspire me to try my hand at this enviable craft. Such was the death of my mother in early 1999. I wrote this the day after she died and I never shared it with anyone until ten years later.
Originally, it was called Gone!, but now I think that perhaps the title should be
Mum – The Last Time
You’ve left me again.
You’ve left me again.
Why do you keep doing this?
Expect me to follow?
Not this time.
I‘m staying.
No!
When I was seven you left me.
That was the first time.
I was dragged away,
kicking and screaming.
I hated that school, but
you left me there, and went.
Why?
That nurse dragged me in.
Bastard Bison abused me.
Yes! You should be shocked!
Bastard Bison abused me,
but you’d left me and gone.
Bastard.
When I was ten you took me away.
I’d begun to enjoy myself,
but you dragged me away.
I hated that Bison, but liked the school.
That was the time to leave me alone.
But, no!
How many times did I leave you?
Many times, but it really hurt.
No. You thought I was leaving
somebody else,
but it was all of you.
Everyone!
Then you left me again.
I was a big man,
and all of fourteen.
At a naval cadet school.
You left me again.
Cold.
That was the last time,
or so I thought.
You never came to see me again,
Not in my own domain.
But now you’re in Heaven, and
you’ve left me again.
Forever!
I came to see you,
wherever you were.
Over and over again.
But you’ve left me forever.
Now you’ve left me again,
Forever!
You’ve left me again.
You’ve left me again.
Why do you keep doing this?
Expect me to follow?
Not this time.
I’m staying.
You’ve Gone!
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Footnotes
Some friends have asked who Bastard Bison was. This is my response:
Bison was the nickname of a teacher at my boarding school who serially sexually abused me for three years, from the age of seven. I didn’t even realize that I had been abused until I was in my thirties, would you believe?!
On a lighter note, I have added the following to a response to another private comment that has been made to me about the raw emotion of my poem……..
When my Mum was dying, she told me that I looked stressed. I felt like saying that anyone whose Mum was dying would be stressed, but restrained myself. She told me that she’d left me a bit of money and I could use it to either pay a chunk off the mortgage, or go for the holiday of a lifetime to de-stress. Well, I am never one to be accused of going for the boring option, so I took myself and my wife off for an all inclusive holiday in a top Caribbean resort (in Grenada), for Christmas and the millennium.
So, there I was, at midnight, wearing my kilt and regalia less the socks and brogues, standing in the tropical sea, with fireworks and ocean liners behind me, tears streaming down my cheeks, raising a glass of single malt whisky to the memory of my Mum!
Crazy man!!!
