My Mum

My Mum had a very expressive sniff.
With one sharp intake of breath through her nostrils, she could say more than most people do in acres of rambling speech.

My Mum used to tease my Dad about his lack of SOA (Spirit of Adventure).
Life had to have a full quota of fun and laughter.

My Mum always wore an apron;
Utilitarian ones for everyday use and frilly, lacy jobs for special occasions.

My Mum loved school.
She was devastated when she was taken out aged 12, on the grounds that girls didn't need an education.

My Mum was determined her children should have the opportunities denied to her.
She loved writing stories, but never did.

My Mum would have had a brilliant relationship with G.
She would have 'got' him, sorted him out.

My Mum would have been besotted by my children.
And they would have adored her.

My Mum loved this time of year, when families gather together to celebrate the New Year.
She would have preened and basked in a way she never had the chance to do in life.

My Mum died eighteen years ago today.

(NOTE: This should have been published on the English anniversary of Mum's death on Sunday. She would have been blown away to know she was the subject of a blog post.)

Psst - wanna join a flashmob?

The message arrived by email.
Lots of emails, to be accurate.
Lots of emails and lots of links ...
But I already knew the answer would be a resounding 'YES'.
I've always wanted to be a part of a flashmob ...

So what's it going to be? Pillow fight? Spontaneous disco dancing? Moon walking?
Neither - it's co-ordinated mobile phone alarms.
It's about putting pressure on governments to take a firm stand on climate change.
And it's organised by the Good Guys of Cyberspace, Avaaz.

Monday 21st September
12.00 midday
Mel and I arrive at Parliament Square and head for our designated spot in front of Westminster Abbey.
I nudge Mel in the ribs.
'There!' I hiss. 'That's them!'
'Who? What?'
I indicate 3 women in blue t-shirts holding umbrellas and exchange conspiratorial nods with them.
'There - they're wearing blue and they're carrying umbrellas.'
Mel looks a trifle panicky. She hadn't read all the emails and has no idea what I'm talking about.
'So?'
'So it's a signal. They know what's happening. Keep an eye on them.'

We do, trying to blend in and look like tourists. It's not easy and we both wish we had proper cameras instead of our mobiles. Our eyes dart round looking for other likely suspects. I smoke a fag. Mel eats a banana.

12.15 pm
Oozing faux nonchalance, we head across the road and into the centre of the square.

12.18 pm
Alarms ring out from 300 phones and assorted alarm clocks. From all over the square, 300 right arms are raised into the air.
There should be 302. Mel and I had synochronised with the website yet somehow we've managed to set our clocks 2 mins slow.
Never mind. We raise our silent phones in solidarity and hope no one will notice when they belatedly beep a couple of minutes later.
After joining in with the obligatory whoops and yells, we all turn north to face Mandela's statue.
'Tick, tick, tick,' we all chant, representing the time we have to save the planet ticking away.
Then we all call Gordon Brown on the numbers supplied in those emails.

12.30 pm
It's all over and we drift away to get the bus home.

Due to road works and traffic jams, we were out for about 3 hours to take part in a 5 minute protest.
Was it worth it?
Well, apart from giving me the opportunity to spend some quality time with Mel on a glorious Autumn day, it seems the message did get through.

And it wasn't just us. All over the world events - over 2,200 of them - were taking place as ordinary people came together in a common cause to save our planet.

And I fulfilled a long held ambition to be part of a flashmob.
I'd post photos - if someone could just tell me how to get them from phone to blog ...
Other, less technically challenged people, fared better - see here.
Someone got me - can you see me?


You can still be part of the movement, even if you missed the day's events.
All you have to do is call the leader of your government, urging her or him to travel to Copenhagen for the climate talks in December and sign a fair, ambitious, and binding climate treaty.
You can find the appropriate phone numbers as well as photos and a live blog here.

Here a book, there a book, everywhere a book book ...

Let's see now ...

The deadline for submissions to Hoovering the Roof, the anthology of work produced by members of the East Dulwich Writers' Group, is this Sunday.
16 people have contributed short stories, poems and novel extracts, which have all been through a collective editing process.

Now we need to do everything else necessary to gather them together into a book ready for publishing.

Then there's the project I suggested to the parent/teacher literacy steering group at the boys' school.

'Let's produce a book to tie in with the 50th anniversary,' I suggested a few months ago.

'Great idea,' came the reply last week. 'Let's do it. We can produce a time line covering the last 5 decades, with sections dealing with what was happening at the school at each stage, slots for major national and international events, blasts of popular culture as well as reminiscences and anecdotes from former staff and pupils. It should be visually exciting and will be a celebration of how far we have come.'

'Fantastic! So what's the time scale?'

'Um - we need to launch it at the celebratory event ... at the end of October ...'

Then there's the new development for my freelance editing.
I've always liked to stay in contact with authors whose books I've critiqued, but it's sometimes hard to know when my part of the job is over.
The logical next step has been mentoring and (oh, lucky me) the first person to take up this offer has been the Queen.

She's been blogging in some detail about the process and I'm delighted it seems to be working so well for her. It's certainly a labour of love for me and it's wonderful to be a part of her journey to create a book that I'm convinced is going to be utterly fab!

Oh, yes. And then there's my book. Over halfway and I THINK it's going ok.

Thing is, it doesn't matter how many other books you edit and critique, doing it for yourself is another thing entirely.
Editors need editors too.

Big up to the Squirrel

I mentioned in that last post that I couldn't take the credit for my new blog look, but I didn't tell you who was responsible.

Squirrels can be shy, so I wanted to check with her first.
I'm really pleased that she's allowing me to credit her.

If the world is roughly divided between givers and takers, Beleaguered Squirrel is deffo in the former group. In spite of flying high with a major career change while simultaneously juggling a couple of kids (not easy with those teensy tiny paws) she still found time to devote to me and my blog.

There have been the inevitable teething problems.

The new links I'd added were inexplicably triplicated - easy to sort even for a techy twit like me.

And I managed to work out why all the links embedded in posts seemed to have disappeared ...
that'll be cos I'd set them up to be the same colour as the background then ...

But my stat counter and site meter have also gone AWOL.
I get summaries emailed to me and I've come to the conclusion that ...

EITHER people hate the new look so much that word has gone out to boycott my blog - a highly effective manvoevre since it appears I haven't had a single visit since the switch ...

OR I need to configure something or other.
Any ideas?

One good thing about making the changes was that I needed to blog surf to update the links and came across 2 things that made me laugh out loud.
I'll share them with you here - assuming you're not boycotting me.
If you are, it's your loss, cos they're really very funny.

On Aba's Place I saw this. At a time we're all being warned about germs spreading on public transport, this is a timely reminder that not everything that's infectious is bad.

And Sue G posted this - one author's response to negative reviews.

Enjoy.

Brand new me

Oooh, look! I've changed ...

After nearly 4 years on the blog, I've finally got a brand spanking new look.

I need to tinker a bit, update the links etc, but whaddya reckon?

I had an email saying 'twas done (you didn't think I might have had the guts to do it meself, did you?).
So I clicked in and, even though I was expecting it, I got a real jolt.

I was quite emotional - something lost, something gained.
A familiar face that you unleashed into the world and suddenly notice has evolved.

It felt like when you send your baby off to Big School, wearing a crispy new uniform and looking all shiny and full of hopes and fears for the future and you look at him and think,

'That's my baby? When did he get so grown up?'

Oh, yeah. That's exactly what did happen this week, so the Virtuality/Reality metaphor is spot on.

Forward to the future. Yeehah!

Home Alone

LG started secondary school yesterday, setting off all shiny and new in his uniform, full of hope and potential.
G went back to work yesterday too.
FB's first day back at school is today.

At 7.30 I waved goodbye to them all through the kitchen window.
And went back to bed.

G phoned me as planned with a wake up call at 9.oo and I embarked on my first day home alone.

Blimey, it's quiet here ...

It's all going swimmingly ...

If you're a regular here, you'll already know my partner, G ...
You'll know that he's a running nut ...
And you'll know that he often raises money for ALDLife.

Well, he's off again. But this time he's taking to the water.
That's the icy cold water of Lake Windermere in the Lake District, where he's taking part in the Great North Swim on 12th September, once again raising funds for the charity.

ALDLife was started by Sara Hunt, whose sons both have the terminal brain disorder adrenoleukodystrophy. Alex was diagnosed several years ago when he was 7 and within months he was paralysed and blind. Last year, his younger brother, Ayden, showed signs of ALD and underwent a grueling bone marrow transplant.

Most people would fall to pieces in her situation, but Sara works tirelessly to raise money for research and to support children and families affected by this devastating disorder.

We all do our bit. FB and I have rattled tins and handed out leaflets outside our local Sainsbury's, whose customers have chosen ALDLife as their charity for the year.

And G? He's taking to the water ...
You can do your bit too, by sponsoring him together with the other local parents who are taking part in the swim and in the Great South Run.

Thank you!

An Apple a Day

It's no secret that I wish I had a garden.
Even though my balcony is a riot of flowers, shrubs, herbs and tomatoes, it's not the same ...

So there I was the other day, relaxing with a glass of wine in the garden of a friend who lives a few doors away.
'Just look at that ...' I breathed, gazing at the rosy apples carpeting every inch of the grass and hanging from the branches of 2 ancient trees.
'Yes,' she said, 'Such a nuisance. I can barely eat one a day. They just lie there and rot, attracting wasps. I wish I could get rid of them to be honest.'

Say no more.

After a couple of hours spent in the timeless bucolic pursuit of apple picking:

• The rotten ones have been collected into her compost bin.
• Bags of apples have been distributed to all the kids on our estate, and from assorted windows the sweet smell of apple pies and crumbles wafts on the breeze.
• Another vast bag has been taken to the refugee hostel down the road and another has found its way to Brighton.
• Both dad and I have spicy stewed apples in large containers in our fridges.
• I've resurrected my mum's fab recipe for apple cake (ultra moist and yummy).
• We've been eating fruit salad for breakfast.
• There's nothing like crunching into a fresh organic apple - almost as good as chocolate and a lot better for you.
  

Just imagine what I'd do if I had my own garden ...

The Youth of Today ....

If you believe the tabloid headlines, you probably think everyone under 21 carries a weapon and takes drugs.

If that's your mindset, everything you see and hear will feed into that preconception and appear to confirm your worst fears.

I was looking at my two boys sitting on the tube today and trying to see them through such eyes.

At close to 6', 14 year old First Born towers over most adults.
Little Guy, aged 11, is smaller and grungier and is currently sporting an impressive black eye.
If you searched FB's bag, you would find a blunt instrument (a rolling pin) and a small plastic bag of herbs.

You would assume the worst, wouldn't you ...?
Go on, admit it.
It's highly unlikely you'd assume they were on their way to visiit their 94 year old grandfather to make pizza for him ...

And the black eye?
Yesterday, the 2 of them were cuddling. (Yes. Cuddling.)
LG pulled away and turned smack into a pole.

He's actually very pleased with the result:

• It looks satisfyingly spectacular
• It looks a lot worse than it feels
• It's the one place on his body that he can't see, so doesn't have to deal with the anxiety.

FB, on the other hand, is mortified. He can hardly bear to look at LG and is consumed with guilt, feeling (wrongly) that he was responsible.

The youth of today -
- deserve to be judged by their actions and not their appearance.

By Rhodes less traveled

When I think back to my own childhood it's the holidays that remain most vivid in my memory.

That's how I think of the last 14 summers - as creating memories for my children.

This year, we decided to take a break from soggy campsites and headed off to Rhodes for 2 weeks of guaranteed sunshine and pampering.

We stayed at the Lisa Hotel, near Ixia on the northwest coast, deliberately choosing somewhere off the beaten track and away from the major tourist centres. With just 35 b&b rooms, the family run hotel is intimate and friendly. Our spotlessly clean rooms overlooked the pool, where the boys spent up to 8 hours a day when we weren't out exploring the island.

I wrote a chapter a day and luxuriated in the opportunity to enter worlds created by other writers.
(Massive respect to Nicola Monaghan for The Killing Jar - by far the best book I've read in a very long time.)

We also hired a car for a couple of days, traveling the length and breadth of the island.

Petaloudes - Valley of the Butterflies

Away from the commercial centres, Rhodes is rugged, exquisite and largely unspoiled.

Spot the building, vehicle or person

Prasonisi - the southernmost tip where the Aegean meets the Mediterranean

Ancient ruins at Kamiros - don't even think about it ...

We spent a lot of time in Rhodes Old Town ...


... where we followed this sign ...
... to the last remaining synagogue in Rhodes ...

... all that's left of the once thriving community comprising 5 synagogues, schools, rabbinical training colleges ...

In 1944, the 1600+ Jews of Rhodes and Kos were deported to Auschwitz. 150 survived. The community is now too small to hold regular services but the synagogue and museum are lovingly cared for by those remaining. We met an elderly man who showed us the tattooed number on his forearm - he was 13 in 1944 but was big for his age and strong, so was put to work, avoiding the gas chambers. He gazed at our own 2 boys and asked their names. Little Guy's name is the same as the man's father. He laid his hands on their heads and blessed them.

The next generation.
During those days when we went out exploring, we entered the past. But in the evenings, we engaged with the here and now, gathering with a phenomenal bunch of new friends at the hotel bar...

... run by Michael and his son George.

George boasts that he makes the best cocktails on the island - and he could be right.

I had sex on the beach - I even had sex on the moon. Best of all, I had not one but two screaming orgasms.

They have the power to bring out the extrovert from the driest of stones and I even found myself discovering the attraction of karaoke.

We're home now and attempting to adjust. But if you like what you've seen here, I thoroughly recommend the Lisa. If we go again we'd go self-catering and book direct, which you can do here.

Or just phone 0030 22410 93557 (from the UK) and tell Michael that Debi sent you!

All roads lead to ...

I'm going to be away for a couple of weeks with no access to the internet.

Looking forward to some quality R&R with my boys, getting some chapters of my WIP under my belt and making a dent on my TBR pile.

TBFN - LOL xxx

By Royal Appointment

My editing has received a lovely endorsement -

- from the Queen, no less.

Who could have predicted I'd ever receive an honour from royalty that I'd be so delighted to accept ...

Are we not entitled?

Well, yes, we are actually.

And the winner is ... Hoovering the Roof.

Right. Now we just need to write the contributions, pair up with buddies for feedback, edit and proof read, write the biogs and the blurb, decide the order, design the cover, organise the ISBN, choose the layout and font, arrange for printing of proof copies, co-ordinate amendments, organise print run, sort out a launch event ...

Anti-Plagiarism Day

Writers just can't help stealing. Kleptomania is intrinsic to the creative process.

What else can we write about if not the life we see around us?

That woman on the bus ...
That overheard conversation ...
That snippet of news ...

And it's true for what we read too. When I've edited a manuscript and return to my own WIP, I often find myself writing in a style that is not my own.
I analyse it and realise I've written in the style of the MS I've critiqued.

I was discussing this the other day with Emma Darwin. She describes it as the equivalent of chopping an onion on your breadboard.
You can never quite get rid of the lingering taste and smell.

But plagiarism - real plagiarism where someone intentionally (note italics) steals another person's words - though rare, does exist.

So yesterday (better late than ...) was heralded by Jane at How Publishing Really Works as Anti-Plagiarism Day.

The response has been a series of balanced, thoughtful perspectives about the creative process and the line dividing acceptable influence from downright theft.

See Tania Hershman's here, Sarah Salway's here, Sue Guiney's here, and... and ...

Oh, there are loads. Give a writer a topic and just let us loose!

Name that Book

Regular visitors will know how much I personally owe to the East Dulwich Writers' Group.

To say that finding the group all those years ago literally (geddit?) changed my life, is no exaggeration.

How time flies - the group is now celebrating its 10th anniversary and there are close to 100 people on the mailing list.

That's 100 local writers, all taking words available to each and every one of us and putting them into an order of their own choosing to create something new and unique.

The group has grown organically yet seems miraculously self-adjusting so that we rarely get more than the optimum number of 8 at any one meeting.

To mark our 10th anniversary, we have a new website and ... even more excitingly ... plans are afoot to publish an anthology of our writing.
The book will contain short stories, novel extracts and poems from local writers, most of whom share nothing more than a geographical location and a passion for words.

Think eclectic.
Think diverse.
Think quirky.

First though, we need a title.
We've come up with a shortlist and - this is where YOU come in.

Rich, who is one of our founding members, has set up a poll for us to get feedback on the suggestions that have made it to the shortlist.
If you get a mo, please check it out and let us know which title(s) would grab your attention and make you pick up the book.

Personally, I think it's quite exciting to have an input into the title of an as yet unpublished book.

But then I would, wouldn't I ...

You couldn't make it up ...

I had the weirdest weekend ...

I met ... the man who knocked FB off his bike back in Dec.

I met him at ... a barmitzvah party in north London.

The party was one which a year ago we wouldn't have been invited to due to a family rift that's been in place since 1983 and only recently healed.

The driver is a very close friend of that side of the family and has been since just before the rift happened.

Our last email exchange dated 21st April:
I don’t know if you’ve been informed, but am sure you would like to know that I have received a cheque from your insurers on (FB)’s behalf.
I understand that this whole procedure has happened much faster than is commonly the case and I have no doubt that is entirely down to you not contesting (FB)’s version of events. We are and always will be grateful to you for facilitating the process. It is clear to me that you are a decent and good-hearted man and I am only sorry that we had to encounter one another under such circumstances.
I wish you and your family well for the future and thank you again for all you have done to minimize the trauma of the accident.
With warmest wishes.

His reply:
Very good to hear from you and that all has worked out. My insurers did not inform me even though I had asked them to and expressly requested them to act efficiently.
Most importantly (FB) is well.
Please send him my regards and maybe some day our paths will cross but on a happier note.
Stay well and regards.

If this was written in fiction, it would be described as a credibility-stretching coincidence.

Truth. Stranger. Fiction.

The Blogger Returns

Yippee! I'm back ...

And it's all thanks to the generosity of the lovely Lisa Glass, who contacted me to say her (equally generous) husband is a techy supremo with a penchant for healing poorly pooters.

It's uplifting (to say the least) to know that altruism is alive and well in cyberspace.

So here I am - spring-cleaned, de-virused, defragged and generally whooshy.

Yeehah!

Argh! They got me!

My laptop's been infected with the techy equivalent of swine flu.

The timing is crap (isn't it always?) but it's going to take a while to sort, so apologies for absence.

I'd forgotten how it makes you feel - vulnerable, violated - like someone's broken into your home and has been rummaging through your knickers drawer.

On the plus side, it provides useful insight for my WIP, where my protagonist is going through much the same ...

I'll be back as soon as I can, meanwhile here's some music ...

Things I don't get ...

• Wearing boots in summer
• Extreme sports
• Non-extreme sports
• Twitter (and Facebook, MySpace, Bebo et al - anything except blogging in other words)
• Low-slung strides
• Gas guzzlers
• People who leave taps running
• Shutter shades
• Mornings
• Instant coffee
• Town houses
• Ironing

Feel free to add to the list.

I'm having a domestic

There's a cold front a'comin' - on the hottest days of the year.

In brief (because spending this much time and energy on household appliances bores me to shreds) we bought a new fridge from Comet and had it delivered.

It didn't work.

Nor did its replacement.

In between, cue hours and hours on the phone trying to get round Comet's inflexible systems so that we could end up with a working fridge without bureaucratic entanglements necessitating engineer call outs, returns to the store etc etc.

After much angst, we finally got our money back and a new (Working! Yay!) fridge elsewhere. My 3 page letter of complaint to Comet's Head Office, enclosing receipts for the £65+ of food we had to throw away - not to mention details of the numerous phone calls, 4 days spent waiting for delivery or engineer, 3 weeks with no working fridge and massive stress and frustration) they've offered me compensation ... £20.

Yep, twenty measly quid. Pah!

But at least we now have a cold fridge.

Except that yesterday I noticed the warning light was blinking - on our freezer!

Bet you can't guess where I'm NOT going for a replacement ...

Seems I'm not alone. Just try Googling 'Comet complaints'.