Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

Writing Goals For 2021  After a brief festive respite, the novel in progress is being dragged into the light of the new year. It has taken a few complicated turns and far too many timelines but I'm wrestling it back to sense. This is the first proper fiction I've written in a long while, other than short mostly hilarious stories, my to-date published books for adults have been written from life. The joy of the ordinary is not missing from this new work, it has merely been joined up with various invented* entities and realms. To keep the plot focused and because I find it the hardest least enjoyable bit of writing I am here attempting to put together a book jacket blurb.  Please read and send feedback - no offense will be taken - I have no idea if the following makes sense let alone if it would entice a reader...  The novel itself needs some pragmatic restructuring but should be a reasonable first draft before this year is done. This, plus more blogging which will be (perform ri

 A Secret We Nearly Kept!  Thursday 3rd December 2020 Walked around two fields, liked them. Phoned the estate agents, decided to offer the guide price. Woke up at 2am in an indecisive panic. Should we shouldn’t we do this? Annoyed at myself for wasting time with worry when the offer could go nowhere. We have made offers before. The velvet jacket I didn’t buy in the Hospice shop appears in a half awake dream. Don’t have regrets, it is telling me. It was such soft velvet and only £4. These are south facing fields near the River Deer, nearly 5 acres. A small stable block, mature hedging, a corner of woods. Somewhere a mains water connection Friday 4th December 2020 I go to the Post Office, the haberdashers, the stationers, the homebrew shop, ticking off a list. Head home. Mr has just finished a phone call. Offer accepted. We are scared - not as much as before. Excited, manageably. There is an ease to it. It isn’t exactly as imagined because it is real. We are too amazed to tell anyone. Th

~Shelf-Elf Barry And The Christmas Pandemic Protocol Situation~ [cultural note: the writer is British and by jumpers she means sweaters; also custard creams are a type of biscuit] Two years had passed since Barry had almost destroyed Christmas with four accidentally overanimated ugly Christmas jumpers. He had been given counselling and gone back to work with an understanding support team. He felt older and wiser now just like Santa had said he would, although he still had the dreams from time to time. He held up his Shelf-Elf storyboard, which was nearly finished ahead of schedule. ‘Seems like you’re getting on well. Chocolate raisins are always funny, hohoho! Just the last scenario to do, eh? Remember that mistakes are important for learning, Barry, I’ve made gazillions of them. So many I couldn’t  even learn from all of them or my brain would get too big and my head could explode. Do your best as often as possible, Shelf-Elf, allow a margin for error.’ ‘Thank you Santa.’ ‘Back to th

~ Words on beginning the Winter Festivities ~ Monday 30th November 2020 Autumn’s last calendar day. The season puts on a thick mist coat so I picture it flouncing out with flaming leaves at its hem, russet apples tumbling behind. Winter clatters at the door, all cold bones and tense sparkling hope. Last night I had driven home connected to a clear night, moon above, fuel warning light pipping, songs turned loud: it was like old poor times, the good energy of it, the leap of faith. This night I drove home through wails of mist, fuel levels contently full, songs still loud: the good energy of repleteness. My fear of comfort is diminished, I note, and this brings an excitement. Am I ready? Yes. Tuesday 1st December 2020 In bed drinking coffee, having first admired the crazy moon lighting the morning sky silvery bright; the sun behind us was arriving as though poured slowly from a jug. Welcome to winter. This first day is a list of simple pleasures: setting up cold protection in t

Words of laziness and love A day at home. It’s morning. Sat in bed, first coffee drunk. From the window see a frost, a trailing mist. Mr is watching videos of people having self inflicted accidents of which some are engagingly stupid; one admires the ambition, the optimism, the care free higgedly-piggedlyness which pandemic restrictions have currently outlawed. From the window see the sky iced blue, see marigolds in the polytunnel leaning through lime tree branches, too tall to stand alone. I ask for a second coffee. Mr, downstairs, talks to the dog who woke us at dawn but is happy to sofa-nap now till breakfast. Yesterday's marigold harvest.

Mid-November, 2nd Lockdown, Notes: At night I drive home by porches and windows that flutter with fairy lights: the lights of Autumn-Christmas, visual cries through dense uncertainty, celebrations through doubt. How can I not smile? People have hunkered into this second lockdown and not given up, or they have said Meh and given in to the need for shine. There are decorated trees beaming out, bright strings from yard to roof, muted stars.  Bought a cheap but pleasantly coloured diary, (the turquoise side of teal) daring to think about organising next year. Walked Dog up the hill in a late autumn chill, a wave of starlings breaking overhead; the lowing sun, a bewildering array of cloud types, a sliver of waxing moon. She sniffed stories, and I the loamy aroma of rotted leaves. Home again for snacks and writing. Yule Tale 2020... brings back Barry The Shelf Elf. The pandemic has meant changes to the usual ways of doing things. Teleporting presents, holographic elves. All the tests go w