Random happy day

It is cold and not very inviting outside, but I am happy to walk to the Post Office with another book order from Amazon. On their UK website it mostly shows as out of stock. I have posted 14 copies to them altogether. They can have as many as they want, I just wish they’d order them in time.

Outside spring is knocking on the door. Primroses are out, snowdrops emerging and the cyclamen, planted last year and a gift from my childhood home, are already flowering.

DSCN6904DSCN6902 - Version 2DSCN6907 - Version 2At lunchtime we walked our Christmas tree through the village to the local zoo, where the DSCN6909 - Version 2 lions are unable to resist them.Screen Shot 2015-01-07 at 15.25.49

This afternoon there were loud road-drilling noises on the road in front of our house. On investigation we discovered two very cheerful men from the Council busy digging out and spot filling some of the gargantuan potholes in our road. It really needs (needed four years ago) a new surface, but anything is better than nothing. After some joking, we took them a cup of tea and biscuits.

When one of the men returned the tray, he asked if I would be interested in selling my Nissan, Sunny. Now this is a battered, venerable (L Reg, 1993-94) workhorse, that goes on passing its MOT year after year and does all the heavy mucky jobs as well as getting me to Lindy hopping and other delights. It is scratched and dented, held together with gaffer tape, and grows moss around the windows. This guy collects these cars! I had to turn him down as I plan to run it until it eventually dies (which might be after I go, at the present rate).DSCN6916

Tonight I have a book group meeting to discuss Dear Lupin: Letters to a Wayward Son by Roger and Charlie (the son) Mortimer.

 

Who do you write like?

On 29 December I was reading fellow-blogger Ann Koplow‘s post and was introduced to the website I Write Like.

Well I wasted (?) enjoyed (?) an hour of baffling fun. I took groups of paragraphs from different parts of my recent novel Border Line and apparently I write like:

H P Lovecraft – supernatural, extra terrestrial                                                                  Arthur Clarke – science fiction                                                                        Margaret Atwood – ?!                                                                                       James Joyce – double?!                                                                                     Arthur Clarke – perhaps this algorithm is on a loop

I put in a few paragraphs from my second novel, Unseen Unsung and I write like:

Anne Rice – vampire, Gothic fiction, Christian Literature, erotica                         H.G. Wells – science fiction                                                                                    Kurt Vonnegut – satire, gallows humour and science fiction again

And my first novel, A Small Rain and I write like:

H.P. Lovecraft – supernatural, extra terrestrial                                                      P.G. Woodhouse – out of left field

My unpublished non-fiction manuscript, Writing to a Ghost: Letters to the River Kwai 1941 to 1945 and I write like:

Arthur C Clarke – …what?

A short, short story, Barbed Wire, that I wrote in December on a course attached to the Reality Exhibition at the Sainsbury Centre at the University of East Anglia. The story related to the painting by John Keane, The Inconveniences of History II and I write like:

Neil Gaiman – graphic novels, comic books

Let that be a lesson to me; narcissism just leads to confusion. Or possibly the statistical analysis tool needs some adjustment. I have read none of the works of these writers apart from Margaret Atwood and P.G. Woodhouse, but I am reasonably certain that neither my style, nor, for sure, my content, has any resemblance to theirs.

My 500 word story is on this page.Screen Shot 2014-10-10 at 12.19.51

I did finally stop pfaffing about and started writing today.

Wishing you all a festive time

WE seem to have arrived at Christmas day! I am wearing so many hats I’m not sure if sleep is an option. Before I feed the reindeer, I would just like to wish you a happy, peaceful day wherever in the world you happen to be.

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The Dance – living with FTD

This is not a Christmassy post. I could have waited until after Christmas to post a review of a book about brain degeneration, but death and disease do not wait for the right season and I need to write while the effect of the book is still strong in me.

DSCN6841Before I retired, I used to work in brain research and when my work took me into the field of early-onset dementias I found very little to read that was written from a relative’s point of view. Soon after this, in 2007, Marianne Rumens published her brave account of her husband’s life and death from  Frontotemporal Dementia or Pick’s Disease, titled No More Apples for Tom.

Recently, Deborah G. Thelwell published a similarly brave book, The Dance: Our Journey Through Frontotemporal Degeneration. This is a love story about a long and happy marriage. It is also the story of her husband, Alan, and his devastating brain disease (FTD). Deborah is a nurse, and she writes a blindingly honest, clear and heartfelt description of living with this disease. In particular she charts her experience of FTD’s grim and erratic  progress from first diagnosis to last breath. She does this with committed love, but also with clarity – a rare combination.

This disease attacks in mid-life, symptoms typically manifest in patients in their mid-fifties, when no-one is expecting brain degeneration and doctors, understandably, look for more likely explanations first. FTD results eventually in dementia, but it is extremely variable, often difficult to diagnose and poorly understood, even by health professionals.

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This book is an enlightening read for every neuroscientist, doctor, nurse, researcher or student of FTD and other early-onset brain diseases. Because it details the day-to-day changes in behaviour, it shows in devastating detail the way such a disease causes pain to those in contact with it. It shows the many misunderstandings experienced by relatives and sufferers of FTD. I wish that when I was a researcher new to this area I had had this account to hand. I would have had better insight into the lives of those I was trying to understand and both their experience of my efforts and my work would have benefited greatly.

For Deborah, re-living this experience as she wrote must have been very hard. But what she has accomplished is a gift to those working in the field and I hope this knowledge will make the effort of writing all worthwhile for her and her family.

It is important to say that this is NOT a suitable book for the newly-diagnosed patient or their relatives. There are many variants of FTD and the path of this disease is itself very variable. I have personally known several patients with the same diagnosis whose lives have taken a different course from Deborah and Alan’s. Early diagnosis often changes as the disease progresses and FTD is frequently only confirmed with certainty post-mortem.

Pains and joys – more lessons for the writer and self-publisher

When Border Line came back from the printers, I couldn’t bear to open it for fear of coming across a gigantic error or a name missing from the acknowledgements. So I opened one box, took one copy out and gave it my husband, then shut the box. A week later I bumped into my dear supporter, neighbour and kind reader of early drafts, Maureen Katrak, and knew as I talked to her that I has missed her name from the acknowledgements.

Three days ago I discovered I had forgotten someone equally deserving of my thanks, David King. From the other side of the Atlantic, battling with MS and unable to read without voice software, David has read and given me feedback on at least three drafts of Border Line over the years.

I don’t know by what malign convolution my brain has managed to let slip these names as I wrote up my acknowledgements, I only know that these two people should have been there at the top of the list and I owe them both heartfelt thanks for all they have done.

So, dear writing friends, don’t be an idiot like me, keep a scrupulous record of those amazing people who give you their time, their thoughts, their honest opinions and their kindness.

On Saturday, still reeling from the mortification this last discovery, I attended The Linton Kitchen Christmas Fair on a sunny but freezing day.
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I set up the tiniest stall possible with 15 copies of Border Line and two or three of my previous novel Unseen Unsung, mostly to prop up the newspaper article about me. In spite of thermals, my fingers froze and my toes seized up on the cobbles. I expected, if I was lucky, to sell half a dozen books. After a hurried re-supply from my husband, I sold 23 copies of Border Line IMG_0834and 6 of Unseen Unsung. For a small-scale self-published author these are significant numbers. So selling in a local venue where your face is familiar (notwithstanding the threat of frostbite) is a better bet than a getting your books onto a shelf in a book shop.

I had two copies left when I took this photo.

 

Mea culpa – red-faced publisher

Umm, I have a confession. All this stress over Amazon making my life as a publisher (Threadgold Press) into a nightmare and endangering sales of my new book (Border Line) may be my fault. I asked them, yet again, why they did not send an email to me about an order, and I put in the email address I expected them to use. They replied that if I wanted to use this email address I had better change my settings, because the one they had was… They had a non-existent email address, a mixture of two of my three addresses. This particular stramash is an error I have made in the past, so I’m sure it is my fault. Apologies Amazon Advantage (ouch!).

My penance is to tell you all and perhaps help one other person to avoid the same pitfall, and to check their settings when expected emails go astray. In spite of GIGANTIC embarrassment, I am happier than before, because an intractable problem has an explanation and a cure, so the problem should disappear.

All I need now is a placatory photo so that you will remember the photo and not my idiocy.PICT0001

Carrots and Jaffas – a book for big minds

Carrots and Jaffas by Howard Goldenberg opens with the heart-stopping scene of a child being stolen. The child is one of twins. While the story of the twins, their birth and their fates, is central to the narrative and binds the reader by a need to know the outcome, the book ranges over many other stories as it takes us there.

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Actually, it doesn’t just range, it digs deeply into these other stories. As the twins narrative progresses, the reader has a sense of entering several books in parallel. With each character, comes new subject matter and, personally speaking, new and fascinating information. The book manages to be both deeply moving and matter-of-fact. This is meat for the curious, manna to the open-minded and satisfaction for the intellectually hungry. It is packed with poetry, fantasy, humour and fact and I enjoyed every word.

Howard has set the book in his native Australia, and offers a depth of intimate knowledge about the continent and both its modern and indigenous peoples. This is a revelation to the non–Aussie reader (and you might need a map). He draws on his decades of work as a doctor with all these people. I am now happily anticipating reading his memoir, My father’s Compass, and Raft, his account of life as a doctor in remote, indigenous Australian communities. He also blogs entertainingly and with passion at http://www.howardgoldenberg.com.

Author (almost) Faints at Book-Signing Event!!

If Amazon put me through a two-week version of the author and publisher’s worst nightmare, today the gods handed out one of those moments that an author can only dream of. No, I didn’t sell 100 books, or get signed up by an agent or publisher. It was sweeter than that.

I was sitting in the corner of the friendly and comfortable café of the Gog Magog Hills Farm Shop Screen Shot 2014-12-05 at 22.02.14DSCN6799(Like so – sorry, this only comes blurred.) I had distributed little booklets with info about Border Line  all over the room and left a browsing copy on one of the tables plus various other signals. However the café was full much of the day and I remained hidden. Several friends came and we all chatted and I sold a satisfactory trickle of books and I had my photo taken with an interesting Chinese visitor, Josie, who bought a copy too.                             In the afternoon a couple of women came and sat on the table next to me, glanced at my leaflet and got on with their tea and chat. Finally, as they left, one of them leaned over and spoke to me, and I explained that I was signing my new book. Then she spotted copies of my earlier novel, Unseen Unsung, and said, ‘Do you mean you are the author of that book?’ I agreed I was. I was gobsmacked by her reaction and modesty prevents me from repeating… well actually I was so overwhelmed by all she said I can’t remember it enough to repeat. After saying many wonderful things, she explained to her friend that she had made her reading group get it and it had been difficult to get enough copies and they had had to share books, she didn’t have her own copy… I sat there is a state of blissful amazement.

Anyway, I think if you ask any writer what would make them happiest in the world, it would be to hear from a stranger, who had read their book, a spontaneous and generous appreciation of it. So Tracy and Alison, if you should happen upon this post, thank you for making all that sweat, uncertainty, aspiration and crazy numbers of hours shifting words from A to B (and often back again), all worthwhile in the end. I really mean that.

Publication day and the blood pressure challenge

Border Line 2Border Line will be released tomorrow… except that two days ago Amazon took the print book off the UK site. A friend who had pre-ordered the book had the order cancelled and received an email saying… ‘Our supplier has informed us that it’s been discontinued and is no longer available.’

I, the publisher, supplier and author, have sent no such information.

This came on top of increasingly frantic efforts to get a cover image for the print book onto the Amazon UK site. In the course of these efforts I discovered that Nielsen have been feeding out the image to Amazon since August, but Amazon are having problems with images and are still working on a fix.

At this moment, Border Line (print version), can be found by clicking on the kindle edition icon, then choosing ‘paperback’ from the list. This then shows it as unavailable, but you can put it on a wish list. If I had been trying to dream up a way to raise the blood pressure of a small publisher/author to danger levels, I don’t think I could have done better job than Amazon have achieved.Screen Shot 2014-12-04 at 18.54.12

In the grand scheme of things these are trivial problems. So on the plus side, I have twice met the hedgehog outside the back door, either with his face in the trough, or waiting patiently by an empty one. We have had a visitation by a small flock of goldcrests, picking spiders off our window ledges. They were too swift to photograph, but they did reduce the blood pressure.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERATomorrow I shall have a peaceful day, signing copies of Border Line (or twiddling my thumbs) at the wonderful Gog Magog Hills farm shop.

 

Borders, borderlines and choosing when to die

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Border Line (as print and ebook) in the UK and ebook worldwide will be on sale from December 5th 2014

“Of course love is the ultimate luxury, but I am unwilling to continue the trek in the certainty of its absence.”

Eleven people travel across Slovenia in a small coach. Grace and the other nine members of the group all wish to die, while their leader, Daniel, appears only to want to help them. He involves them in actors’ exercises and therapeutic games. They tell stories, travel like tourists and surprise themselves with laughter. Daniel promises he will take them, at the end of the trek, across another border to die. Though they are free to change their minds at any time, by day twenty-one they must make their choice.

Border Line is written as  an entertaining and comfortable-to-read story about ordinary people. That said, its USP (Unique Selling Point – see, I have the jargon) is: ‘An upbeat love story about suicide’… So, any sane person may conclude that I have either trivialised a very serious subject by wrapping it in a love story, or the reverse; I have spoiled a decent love story by weighing it down with the heavy subject of how we choose to die. (I am long past judging whether it is either or neither).

Three things kick-started Border Line:

  • Some lines in a poem titled Rehearsal by Eleanor Green                                     … for an exercise/I look at his hands/to improve our relationship/onstage?…
  • A strange and wonderful day with a Frenchwoman, an American/Hungarian(?) woman and a taxi driver from Ljubljana, in which we communicated in many tongues while trying to see most of Slovenia. We got lost in a forest in fog.
  • Curiosity about people who feel a particular kind of guilt. We try to help victims, but what happens to decent people who cause bad events.

DSCN1906 OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAThe Borders in the story are Slovenia’s. This amazing country, about the size of Wales, and has four of them and, being at a cross roads in Europe, a lot of nations have tramped through it.                                                                          DSCN1940OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

The borderlines in the title are also those of the mind. Suicide causes untold distress to relatives and friends. We all know this, and most people who contemplate it at some time in their lives recover and go on to complete their natural span. Yet living is, for some people, unbearably difficult and I personally have never felt I could blame someone who chooses the exit route. I also feel, ever more strongly, that we should have some choice about how and when we end our lives.

I also believe that there is much to live for and that the majority of people are kind, trustworthy, interesting and loveable and the world is an endlessly fascinating place that I will be reluctant to leave when my time comes.