The news at the moment seems to be focused on investigations.  As current investigations report and the first reaction in almost any situation is now to call for an enquiry, we seem to be addicted to going back over old decisions.  Now where there have been miscarriages of justice, such as Hillsborough, this is long overdue.  However, I wonder how much most decisions really stand up when you look back at them, taking into account the beauty of hindsight?  And how many people are truly independent and unbiased?  We are all shaped by our upbringing, environment and personality, that we will all have a view on most things before we start.  Sometimes it seems we set impossible standards.

Under the façade, secrets squirmed vigorously, sending ripples that jarred her heartbeat.  Was it possible that no-one else could hear it?  She upped her smile’s wattage.

Following my concerns re fancy dress, I was delighted that only 1 of my much-younger colleagues (other than the organiser that had suggested it) turned up in fancy dress.  I wonder whether the pressures of grade inflation, job-hunting, saving for deposits etc have turned generation Y rather more serious than previous generations.  Certainly, they didn't drink as much either...is good behaviour the new bad?  It does seem that those I'm seeing getting plastered now are closer to my age.  Maybe health warnings work after all...

Shiny fabric met concrete slick with the first fingers of frost, legs flailing drunkenly.  I watched her being pulled to her feet: further collapse seemed inevitable.

'Tis the season of parties and all of the minefields that come with them.  I felt very old at work when I felt uncomfortable wearing fancy dress to work - after all, it is work, the very anti-thesis of 'fun'...So, I thought I met them half-way and wore something rather fancier than average (and in red), only to find that only 1 person (other than the organiser herself) had worn fancy dress...felt so much better, that at least if I was miserable, I was amongst friends.

The invitation said ‘fancy dress’: she shuddered.   Etiquette already requires wearing a sociable mask and playing a part: why do we hate being ourselves so much?

Friends are wonderful things.  Especially when they believe in you and are prepared to support you with their name.  So, I was very flattered when the award-winning poet-about-town Judi Sutherland tagged me'n'my novel on her blog as a 'next big thing'.  Following that, I tag 5 more people and so it goes...so if you want me to tag your blog next, let me know...

1.       What is the working title of your next first book?

It's called Anchors and it's a novel - approx 80,000 words, but probably still needs some of them swapped around...

2. Where did the idea come from for the book?

I read a story about someone finding out they were adopted as a grown adult and wondering how I would react if told the same news.  From there, it grew to include two other characters who lose something fundamental to themselves.

3. What genre does your book fall under?

Don't categorise me darlings...I have really struggled with this question.  I was aiming for literary fiction, but think it might be general dark fiction, though definitely no vampires.

4. What actors would you choose to play the characters in a movie rendition?

There are three lead characters: Anna, a thirty year old career woman, who needs to be someone next-doorsy (that's Home Counties next-door, not Hollywood).  Then Christopher, a fifty year old hypocrite - he needs to be tall and thin, like an older version of Mackenzie Crook.  Finally, we need a 'Gent' a forty year old thug, so maybe a younger version of Ray Winstone...

5. What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Three people lose the thing that they believe defines them and must struggle to make sense of their changed world.

6. Is your book represented by an agency?

Not yet...open to offers!

7. How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

I wrote bits and pieces over a couple of years, then the second half of the book in a concentrated period of about 6 months.  The editing is more time-consuming that I thought...

8. What other books would you compare this to within your genre?

I really enjoyed 'A Week in December' by Sebastian Faulks for the way he weaves the characters' stories together and connections that were not initially apparent fall seamlessly into place.

9. Who or what inspired you to write this book?

I had started it with no particular inspiration, then when my husband was due to be absent for 3 days on a course, I thought that this was a good opportunity to see whether I really wanted to finish it.  In those 3 days, I wrote nearly 10,000 words and was hooked.  Then the characters themselves started telling me their story and all I had to do was write it down.

10. What else about this book might pique the reader’s interest?

It should make you ask yourself how you would cope if these things happened to you...

A slap on the wrist yesterday - someone followed my blog...rather than celebrations, cue immediate guilt that I hadn't updated it for a while.  But is this a bad thing?  If I have nothing to say, should I say something anyway, for the sake of filling pages?  No, I don't think I should.  There have been enough cases of rash-tweeting recently to be a warning that keeping your mouth shut occasionally is a good thing.  So, to my first follower, thank you very much and welcome.  Just don't expect essays...

Her thoughts always crowded around, seeking attention, demanding to be put down on paper.  Once there, they would not lay quiet.  She pressed the ‘back’ button.

Today, I got a rejection for my novel from a literary agent.  This was not the first rejection note I have ever received and is unlikely to be the last.  

What did annoy me rather was that it was a standard email, of four lines, when they had had the submission (in their requested format) since March.  289 days to be precise.  Am I unreasonable in thinking that a little customisation could have been done in that time?  I always seek feedback, I always want to improve...if anything, I prefer criticism to praise, because it is more often genuine.  So, please, give me something...  

The door was ajar, a glimpse of dark, twisting corridor behind.  First step onto the threshold, when something shoved her.  She landed outside: the door slamming.

It is a very odd thing when you go back and read stories you wrote a while ago.  You remember all the effort you put in to finish them, then are surprised to find you don't understand something or can see a clumsy word.  When someone else comments, that is even more illuminating, when we see ourselves as other people see us and how our impression lingers.  That reminded me of an occasion where someone I met lingered rather too long...

The man didn’t know where he was going so took his time.  His memory worked through the senses, until at last the smell too had gone.

Lots of writing activity means no time to update the blog.  My first play is finished and posted (posted! In a post box!) to a competition.  I'm preparing a short story for a writing group and a new version of the synopsis of the novel for an agent.  Plus, I've just signed up for NaNoWriMo - or National Novel Writing Month, which sets the target of a 50,000 word novel in November...hey, for me, it's more doable than growing a moustache...

Writing, she thought, is being able to take out on your characters what you would like to happen to others.  On a page, the bleeding began…

We are not that far from the primeval, as you realise just how much the weather affects mood.  Even though I've had a great day, got lots done, I've felt a gloom from staring at grey skies.  

A day of persistent rain.  Golden leaves were washed towards the gutter, where the colour bled down the drain.  She had to hold her hopes tightly.

Why haven't I blogged for a while?  One reason (but one that I never allow myself to use) is that I haven't had time - sorry, not valid, if you really want to do something, you make time.  Then is it because nothing has inspired me?  More valid - I have really got my teeth into the new job and hence creativity is now flowing that way and less into the writing.  

Ideas buzzing so loud that she was surprised others could not hear them.  She gave them characters, but the plot ended up as a bottom line.

Today I started on the redraft of the novel.  It's the eleventh and, like the eighth and tenth, will be quite a radical change (others were just read-throughs).  I wonder when it will be finished?

The pile of paper in front of her echoed many previous piles, long gone.  It’s message was evolving, but still recognisable.  Next time, she was sure.

A good weekend, with a mix of getting things done and doing things for pleasure.  Sometimes though, you just have to keep a sense of perspective...

She spent an age fishing a small fly from her drink, prodding ineffectively, increasingly desperate.  Why was she so upset – it wasn't her that had drowned.

I have said before that you see a huge variety of human life when commuting by train.  Like it or not, you are thrown into close proximity with a lot of other people and you see them in all moods.  This was someone late on Wednesday night, when there were only the two of us left in the carriage...

Her nose stung, inhaling the scent of someone else’s failure.  His eyes focused upon her with loathing for  being witness, anger now in the aniseed air.

Oh dear, these gaps keep getting longer between posts.  I put this down to a) working full time and b) a Spanish exam.  Thankfully, the exam is now over and I am feeling a childish sense of freedom.  Now, I can read books, write books or simply stare out of the window with my mouth open without feeling guilty.  

Jammed on the charity-shop shelf, in dusty immobility.  I had to remove the books either side to take slide it out.  The dedication professed undying love.

Well, I'm back from holiday, with a little wrinkle of a long weekend before I start the new job full-time.  On the one hand, it feels like a collar going back on.  On the other, I am shaping it my way, so that I can use time to write and pursue the other interests I have developed in my time off.  That's the plan anyway...

The awkward gap between holiday and the real world, when the tan is still there, but washing drying and deadlines looming.  A new chapter starts here.

A good weekend.  Why good?  Because I spent a lot of it laughing.  Not at anything sophisticated, in fact, the level was about Carry On film (American Pie for anyone reading in America).  But what that means is you shed any pretension and laugh so that every bone shakes.  And when that shaking is over, you feel a whole lot looser and other things start working better too.

Gutters cling to roofs or skirt roads.  High or low, they get rid of rubbish and the flow is cleansing.  As she laughed, things started flowing.

I went for what I thought would be a quiet drink on Thursday and ended up on the end of a rant.  It came from someone who described himself as a vegan anarcho-socialist and, supported by an ex-hippie, proceeded to tell me what was wrong with the world and how redistribution of wealth, instantly, would fix it. Call me cynical (I prefer pragmatic), but some practical guidance on this would have been good, rather than just 'well we need to think differently.'  Then he called me a victim.  At that point, amused tolerance rather departed.  

“You’re stupid because you don’t see that the world’s all wrong and you just ignore it.” Stupid then, as I change only what I can reach.

There have been a number of important(ish) people telling other groups of people (not their own) what they can and cannot do recently and it has upset a lot of people.  It would be sad if we lost all ability to express opinions through fear, even if those opinions are not what we want to hear.

“You must do what I say.” “Why should I?” “Because I know better than you.” “I won’t listen to you anymore.” Repeat, until everywhere is silent.

We are supposed to grow up and lay aside childish things, as the phrase goes.  To which I answer, yes, but they are so much fun...

On the final leg of the commute, bag digging into shoulders.  By the main road, she picked the wild blackberries, each stained finger chasing away years.

A weekend of sloth, interspersed with eating, drinking and wallowing in nostalgia, which is not a bad way to do things.  One of these was a secular naming ceremony, which was a new one.  I rather admired it: it was a relaxed affair for family and friends and, most importantly, it reflected what they believed.

A child, name proclaimed into the open air. The angel's share of malt whisky was brushed across his sparse hair. Life, started hopefully, without heaven's intervention.

A change is in the air...

The evenings were darkening and with it the mood.  The first rain for a week jammed a broken flag stalk in the drain.  The mood dampened.

A couple of things happened today, small in themselves, but designed to lift the mood.  Someone listened to me and acted on it.  I was able to make someone laugh when they were about to cry.  And someone said 'good job'.  Feeling a little reckless now...

She deliberately stepped on a crack in the pavement waiting for the apocalypse.  Silence.  In the train ahead, a full can teetered away from the vertical.

OK, can anyone spot the difference today?  Getting onto the train this morning felt like the first day back at school.  People no longer had an all day, rolling parade of excitement to follow and suddenly had to focus on  'other news'.  Added to that the relief that London had not just not messed up, but triumphed.  There was a sense that people had discovered emotions they were not aware of and were wondering what to do with them.  For me with my writer's head on, lots of stories start here...

There was an air of something missing, lost but within fingertip distance.  People groped blindly, because they did not yet want to admit it had gone.

I haven't blogged for a few days, because there has been nothing on my mind.  I am worrying that this is the first sign of everything slipping...

Her mind was a blank canvas, untroubled by thoughts.  Previously this state had been elusive, requiring pursuit.  Now it beckoned, leading her on into gentle apathy.

Story genesis: I love it when a story suggests itself from everyday life.  I was on the train, when sitting opposite me was a large chap who had a woman's diamond engagement ring on his little finger.  He saw that I had noticed it and appeared uncomfortable.  It wasn't clear whether he was going to a situation where he would need it or coming away from something where it had been thrown away and he was looking after it.  I wonder...

Broad shoulders with muscles visible under the t-shirt, taut against the train’s motion.  A woman’s engagement ring gleamed on his smallest finger.  He twitched it, sweating.

The occupants of the carriage stared into their individual spaces, in wilful ignorance of their surroundings and each other.  A toddler broke the rules and laughed.

Caring sharing: How do you respond when someone seems to be in trouble?  There seem to be three types of trouble: obviously genuine when people generally rise above themselves to help.  Then there are the regular small things we all do to ease people along, like making up the change for someone's fare.  Then there is when the problem is very small but the amount of attention someone wants for it is out of all proportion.  Is that caring or is that pandering?  And, once you realise the difference, when do you say 'sort yourself out' or let it pass, to no doubt get bigger next time.

She packed the remainder of the small pile.  The bag closed easily.  It would be an easy, quick escape.  A phone rang, at the bag’s bottom.

Supportive or supporter? I read yesterday that Clint Eastwood, the actor and director, has endorsed Mitt Romney for US president.  I find this rather odd, not because one thinks of actors as traditionally Democrats, but more because of how odd it would be the other way around.  We would think it ridiculous if Obama told a director that he preferred Meryl Streep to Glenn Close for the next lead role or David Cameron told Simon Cowell who should win his next talent competition.  So why does this happen?  Are people so incapable of making up their mind that they will only do what someone else tells them?  It does lead on to the question of what is support?  Athletes have talked about the support from the crowd in London pushing them on, but is it always productive?  And do we recognise the boundary when support becomes a crutch?

“You never support me.”  The voice rose to a shrill keening, words emphasised by flailing arms.  “You expect me to cope with everything.” “And you do.”

Eyes have it: It is quite hard to find non-Olympic stories around at the moment, but one that I heard was that kids who get less sunlight as they grow up are more likely to be short-sighted.  Cue the usual moans re lack of exercise, computer games etc, but this is just the latest reason to confirm that going outside is good for you.  I defy anyone not to feel better for going outside and feeling the wind in their hair, clearing the gap between the ears.

They walked by the estuary on a blustery Saturday, letting problems blow away with the scudding clouds.  Laughing, we hid from the rain to eat chips.

Mission to Mars: so we are going to land the most sophisticated rover yet on Mars.  The radio described it as the 'size of a Mini' - I have this wonderful vision of the 'Italian Job' around the craters.  By contrast, the UN resolution to condemn the violence in Syria has again been watered down.  Why are we so keen to push into the unknown when we seem to ignore the the problems under our noses?

At the office, he was known as a sympathetic boss, always asking after your welfare.  At home, the rubbish was spilling out of the unemptied bin.

I have been working from home because of the Olympics. Advantages: I can get a lot done.  Disadvantages: you miss your sights of the world that are the nuggets that stories spring from.  The overheard phrase on the train; the glimpse of an interaction as you walk past, all of which can cause a chain of creativity to spark.  Instead, I am quite mechanistic and efficient.  Need to rebalance.

The fourth day of working from home.  The world came in through the radio, packed, prepared and pre-sliced.  It tasted bland, without the sauce of individualism.

Decisions, decisions...they have to be made and generally, I am pretty good at making them and living with the consequences.  Now, it is a time to refocus and really understand not just what I want to do, but where my horizon is again as I think I've lost track. 

A decision looms: a restricted certainty versus the vacuum of the unknown.  She had lost sight of the horizon, so any path could take her there.

There is a lot of talk about the Olympics inspiring a new generation to take up sports.  They have not mentioned the effect on mathematicians, which is surprising as sport is by far the biggest cause of statistics.  Listening to the radio, I have heard more analysis than to do with anything political or economic eg the Euro crisis.  Perhaps to 'sports science' we could add 'sports mathematics'.  

A parade of faces from the screen.  Jubilation, disappointment, rage and misery, captured at the moment of most visceral emotion when we are closest to beasts.

With recognition, comes a reputation.  The more people that know you, the more will have an opinion about you.  I have spent a few years now taking pictures for an amateur society, so everyone knows me.  The majority of this attention is positive, but occasionally, you get the sense that by standing out, even for something positive, you will get knocked.  However, those people are generally those who are only able to criticise, never to actually do things themselves.  Stuff 'em.

She watched someone laughing, mouth open, teeth bared.  You could hear the harsh edge to the humour that belied the smiles.  Someone was being skewered – her?

Calm before the storm...driving home from a weekend away, we saw the line across the sky, almost black one side, blue the other.  We set the mileage gauge to see how long it would take to drive out of it.  We couldn't: it was on us and the wipers were struggling.  All the while, the line stayed ahead of us, a quiet space we cannot reach.

The clear sanctity just before a storm, when the last sunshine gilds the battleship grey background.  It’s worth the coming storm to have this crystal vision.

Again, it has been a while since the last post.  Disappointment over interviews has changed into joy over being accepted for publication.  My words are going to be read and you never really know the power of a word until it is out there.  This has been illustrated nicely by Mitt Romney's comment over the apparent lack of readiness for the start of the Games - so much for Anglo-Saxon solidarity.

Every word has life and can reproduce.  Its offspring are reported, regarded, retweeted: the compound interest of the soundbite.  She resolved to leave certain things unsaid.

Well, I heard about my interview and it was 'no'.  I estimate that I have put in three full days of effort for 3 interviews (one in Manchester!), research and preparation of a presentation.  And the feedback - I don't fit.  What does that mean?

The ‘no’ hung in the air –weight far greater than the mass of its letters.  The train jerked, the line crackled, saving the necessity of reply.

After the excitement of yesterday, an anticlimax.  No news, no nothing.  I am feeling like the Jane Austen heroine who, jilted by the dashing captain, discovers the true-hearted (if dull) curate is really the one.  My goodness, I do go OTT with my metaphors.

She tried to stay positive.  Unfortunately, that’s hard when the person you believed in fails when tested.  Words hung in the still air, buoyant and empty.

Today could be D day.  I'm off up north to seek my destiny.  It is the bit of the map which says 'here be dragons'...

A sunny Monday after a wet weekend.  Rational mind in neutral, she sought omens in the flghts of birds and cloud patterns.  The picture was confused.

I can't settle to anything today.  A few chores done, but mainly waiting for an outcome.  One more day...

A day that matched her mood, swinging in sudden jerks from open skies, to dark lashings of stormy rain.  Tomorrow would determine where the horizon was.

A welcome day of working from home.  I thought that going back to work would be fun and it certainly is.  What I had forgotten was the commutting.  That period of utter lack of control when you give yourself to a train company for nearly three hours.  Yesterday, I was told my ticket wasn't valid because I got off in London on the stop between two terminals - this doesn't count as a valid stop.  Sometimes you want to scream.

After welcome days of sun, the weather broke, no view, just shapes peering through the mist.  She was working from home, world contracted to a screen.

I am so close to something, it is all the more tantalising because I cannot quite grasp it.  Something that I have been striving after for a long time is there in front of me and, this time, it has come easily.  Why am I suddenly superstitious, not wanting to change anything, for fear of scaring it away?  Only four more days.

The last-lap bell.  She’s hanging back, saving herself, but she’s in danger of getting blocked, the pack’s tight.  One hundred yards to go.  She lengthens stride…

I don't generally believe in astology.  However, since the two new moons, or whatever it was, things have been happening left, right and centre.  Nearly there.

She got a message that caused her to grin, child-like.  Her fellow commuters made small, embarrassed smiles in return.  One even spoke.  Conventions shivered and shattered.

Generally, I like deadlines.  They help me to focus and keep me honest.  Sometimes though, they come in herds and at that point, tend to start being a bit less friendly.  Sadly, it is all my own fault.  I will sign myself up for these things.

“And here, we see a strange creature…a deadline.  Often, these small things have a fearsome reputation for looming or sneaking up, but really they’re very friendly…aaaaaauuuuuggggh.”

Everything is happening at the moment.  Personally, I am back at work and trying to cram a lot of other things in at the same time.  The rest of the world seems to be going to hell in a handbasket and the weather is awful.  And is this weren't enough, all we have on the TV is sport!  Give us a break.

In a game of two halves, it was injury time, extended play.  Now for the last lap, the final fence.  She just wanted an early bath.

It's been an odd day.  A bit of everything.  Someone spontaneously offered me some frogspawn (best offer I've had in ages) and then gave me half a bucket of mortar.  But I didn't get somewhere else, but I received unexpected generosity.  In all though, a good day.  This is what happens when you start with a bacon sandwich...

This is a story about not making my writing group tonight.  Or by writing this am I making it virtually?  My head is starting to hurt.

Another day back at work.  This is a complete change for me - a small company after a big one and a situation where I am the expert (interesting feeling - see story yesterday).  But, just because you've been hired as the big shot, doesn't mean you'll get anywhere...

She asked someone to do something.  Although phrased nicely, she understood the request was resented and would not get done.  Inwardly hurling fire, outwardly, she smiled.

Back to work today... yes I need to update my profile.  Reintroduced to all the joys of commuting, train delays etc, with the added joy of damp seats.  On the plus side, great team and more exposure to those quirky amusing people that later become stories...

‘I am an expert’ he told his phone and half platform one.  Next sentence stunted as he sprinted the slippery platform, his train departing from Three.

Yes, I admit, it's been a week.  I fall back on the reliable excuse of blaming the technology,  being on hols for a week using a netbook, rather than a desk top.  Still, I'm back now and looking out of my window at blue sky, when the rain whilst we were away was relentless.  Sigh.  What scares me is how we may think we are big-shots, but the weather can have such a powerful effect upon personality and willingness to do things.  I found myself slumping at the greyness of it all.  Still, you find nuggets - the second's worth of view when the clouds clear, the joy of finding a pub with a fire going.  You take pleasure where you find it.

The rain was persistent and penetrating.  It hadn’t got through her clothes, remaining on the outside in beads, each a miniature world.  Her soul was soaked.

Eeek, nearly missed the blog again yesterday.  Must get more disciplined, particularly as I have signed up to #juneathon, where I will exercise and blog every day.  Amazing what a bit of peer pressure will do...

Yesterday, I spent in helping someone else, cursing cars and negotiating.  All in all, an odd day. All had a common theme though: when something is ours, we get so into the detail and become blinkered.  When it is someone else's thing (possession, idea, view) we can look at it clearly and without prejudice and get to a better decision.

Organising someone else’s life, it’s so easy to sort the wheat from the chaff.  Seeking same detachment in my own life, to filter treasured detritus junk.

I went back to work yesterday, for the first time in 6 months.  Partly economic, partly to keep my brain from turning to mush.  First consequence?  I missed the blog yesterday, not a good start.  I need to find a way to get mobile, which would be a leap forward for me as, technologically, I am only just into the 21st century (my PC was bought in 2003).  The challenge will be making sure I do not let the writing slip.  The aim is still to get 2 collections of short stories published by the end of June.

After 11 years in the same company, it is also interesting to walk into somewhere where you know no-one, particularly when people have expectations of you.

Twenty faces looking back, expecting wisdom.  She’d been hired to change their world.  She stretched her mouth into the shape of a smile and began speaking.

When there is so much gloom in the world, it is best to take pleasure in simple things.  So, most of the glorious weekend was spent in the garden.  If there is more to life than sunshine, picnics and taking time to read, then I am not sure I need it.  Reinforced when the electricity went off from approx 9.15 to 3pm on Sunday.  However, a new week starts here and reality is intruding.

The weekend had been a haven of peace, the build-up of pressure unfelt in the background.  Now there was one more day before the storm broke.

Yesterday was the wonderful day, previously predicted for Wednesday.  Lots of affirmations of things I have been trying for ages.  And the sun shone.  What more could you want?  This story is nothing to do with any of that, it was just an idea that sprung from a conversation heard on the train about holidays.

She wanted to go to India.  He committed their savings to a timeshare on the Costa Brava.  She eloped with the handyman at the apartment block.

I am a sucker for signing myself up for things.  That means obligations.

A morning spent doing something she did not want to do, but had no choice.  The afternoon doing things she needed to do.  An evening respite.

Another glorious day in the sunshine.  The writing goes in fits and starts, but generally making progress.  I am happy to be on my own, but occasionally it is good to meet up with others.

Three people sitting in a garden café, sharing stories, coffee, sunshine.  An awkward introduction broke the unity: she could only remember one of the two names.

Yesterday, it was six months since I was made redundant.  I was never worried that I would get bored because I had a lot of plans that I had been meaning to do for some time.  What have I found?  That my mind now goes off in different directions - rather than the logical, problem-solving aspects, I find myself absurdly interested in the politics of my husband's job ie about the people as that is perhaps the one thing that I miss about not being at work.  But, the upside is that my mind is free to roam more creatively and stories come more easily. 

Since the redundancy, she had dreamt more.  The mind, freed from the rigid framework of nine-to-five went down peculiar pathways – brain churning.  Mind-yoghurt commented her husband.

We are truly a melting pot, and to me, it seems there is much more that is similar across races and cultures than separates us.  All cultures celebrate by getting together and eating, for example.  I was watching behaviour in an unfamiliar town yesterday and thought, we are all the same...

An unfamiliar High Street, where the fish and chip shop was closed at lunchtime.  Squalling from ubiquitous pushchairs answered by sharp words from different coloured lips.