A few weeks ago I promised you pictures of my research, and then was unable to fulfill my promise, on account of my blog-gremlins(about which more later, assuming they don't suddenly break in and wipe my memory of..oooh, look, kittens!). I hate breaking a promise. I like breaking the seal on a new jar of coffee, mind you, there's something about that first lungful of undiscovered Nescafe that makes me feel as though I am sitting in a pavement cafe in Nice, dunking my pain au chocolat and pretending to read 'Paris Match' despite the fact that my french is really only up to being able to tell people that the headline is "something about bees. Or maybe nuclear fuel.." But I haven't got a jar of Nescafe to hand, so I'm just going to have to show you the previously intended picture of the church on the moors where my heroine in 'I Don't Want to Talk About It' spends a lot of her time, writing her book about graves and being pursued by...well, no I don't want to give it away, but there is a hobby horse involved.
So, that's that one. And, before you ask, yes, I'm still editing Falling Apart, yes I am supposed to be doing it now, and no, I'm not avoiding it...just....well, this is my equivalent of 'getting some fresh air'. For my eyes. I'm only doing it with a firm mental image of my editor standing just behind me, possibly dunking a pain au chocolat but with a very steady gaze fixed firmly on the back of my head, which makes me feel guilty if I stray too far from my keyboard, or spend an hour trying to learn to whistle 'Santa Claus is Coming to Town', or pair my socks according to wear-patterns.
But there are benefits to being incarcerated behind my keyboard, allowed out only for the obligatory Journey to the Day Job and visits to the toilet and things....I've finished my Christmas shopping! Yes, my fingers may be rattling over these keys and my eyes may be focussed on the screen, and I may appear to be working like the sort of demon that you see pictures of in those books with all the tentacles on the cover (only with less tentacles, obviously, because if I had tentacles I'd be able to do my Christmas shopping AND my editing, although that would probably require two keyboards and a bit more brainpower than I can generally muster) but, in reality, I'm giving Amazon blanket-coverage.
Sorry, sorry, I realise that those words will have cast fear into your dear little hearts...no, not the words about the tentacles, the ones about having finished my Christmas shopping. I know, because I'm usually the hearee of such smug statements; the 'oh yes, I got all my shopping done in October, it's all wrapped and labelled and ready for the day', when all I've managed is to buy a packet of dried fruit and some pick and mix which I ate on the way home, so my apologies for that.
Here. Have a picture of my cats to distract you. Cats are lovely.
Sandringham, pt1 - Not Your Royal Christmas, my festive novella featuring characters from Not Your Cinderella and Not Your Prince Charming, will be out in ebook (paperback co...
1 week ago