How to write a best seller. Or Not - depending...

It is with not a little churlishness (or should that just be "churl"?) that I note the best selling books here in the UK this Christmas (as listed and updated hourly on Amazon). Predictably, recipe books abound - at one end of the specutrum devotees of 30 minute meals have bought more books than those who were given a slow cooker for Christmas - but only by a whisker. As always, crime novels and thrillers are well represented, as are diet books and the ubiquitous "Girl with..", "Girl who.." trilogy. None of which constitutes grounds for sniping, admittedly.


However, I am a little miffed that guides on how to be a Jedi rank higher than good fiction. But most of all I am amazed that books purporting to make people happy rank as highly as they do (though not as high as how to be a Jedi and how to cook a delicious thirty minute meal, which says something about the priorities of modern Brits).


Anyway, I just think that given the market is clearly there for happiness guides it really is time for me to get mine out there. I recognise now that "Spring to Mind" was too subtle for many. While ostensibly a novel it was at heart a guide to happiness and how to get it, dressed up as a coaching self-help book. The error was all mine. You see, I thought, naively, that people would baulk at being told how to get happy, at the preposterous notion that another person has the answers to their unasked, even unthought questions. I did not trust the notion that we all want to be happy. One sees so much evidence to the contrary after all...


I was so wrong.


People's wants and desires are not so complex Springgirl. You do them a disservice assuming they will find their own way and that the answers they seek lie within them. Wake up, Springgirl before another million self help books written by someone else are sold!


Jump on this wagon before it well and truly departs the station, mix your metaphors and stand still at your peril!


So here goes:


I am not going to beat around the bush anymore. I am going to draw on 40 years of experience, learning and cynicism to give you the definitive guide to happiness. I am not going to tell you "I can make you happy" or that "you can be happy". No. There is no "can" about it. You WILL be happy. Not only that, you WILL be fitter and you WILL be a domestic goddess capable of winning "The Apprentice" and cooking without a recipe book.  I am here to kill all the birds with one stone and so I give you the "The Happy Person's Guide to Modern Life - The Essential Handbook".


If you buy one new book this year - make it this one!


I give you here a brief overview of the main themes.


1. Happiness is subjective. Trust your gut not what advertisers, your mother or you partner tell you. No product, holiday, person, car, team, drink, hand bag or shoe will give you sustained happiness. Yes they can dull the pain and distract you for a while but they are only band-aids, not cures. Step 1 is to stop relying on them to solve your problems.


2. Fit people are happier and live longer - unless they are killed in pursuit of their fitness or sport - but at least they die happy. So get off the sofa, put the biscuits in the cupboard and go for a walk. Then sustain it - join a gym or a running club.


3. Music lifts your spirits - sing as you work. As you clean the house, wash the dishes or walk, pretend you are in en episode of "The Partridge Family", on stage with Kylie or singing back up for Katy Perry. Get humming as you get moving. Also listen to the lyrics of these fine pop tunes. many wise words to mull over...


4. Spend time every day doing something you love - apart from eating, smoking or drinking to excess. Keep it simple. Perhaps it is browsing in a book store for great self help books like this, or sipping coffee and watching the world go by. Perhaps it is playing golf or watching documentaries about space travel, seeing friends or reading peacefully like you did before you took on the cares of the world and became the sole provider for 287 little mouths.... Just do it.


5. Spend time every day doing something you are good at - people who play to their strengths are happier than people who keep doing things badly. Focus on what you know you can do well - yoga, sewing, baking, building stuff, brewing your own beer. If it makes you happy it will be worth the fights with the family. Be true to yourself. Do what you are good at - win - enjoy it - do it more- get better - win more.... A virtuous circle.


6. Friends and community lift our spirits - social people are happier. But heed this advisedly. Don't socialise at the expense of sleep, fitness, health or engagement with meaningful and fun things you would enjoy more. But if you are doing what you love and do well, then surely you will find people to share the fun with (provided you are not a crazy aggressive lunatic who has to destroy all opponents at the bridge club or on the squash court).


7. Be grateful for what is good in your life - and keep it simple. Watching your child sleep, the morning coffee, a sunny day, a seat on the train, everyone at Christmas lunch believing that you made the dessert, no new pimples...


8. Get real. Keep your expectations within safe bounds. You will not be happy dreaming of being a supermodel or getting discovered as you hum in the dairy aisles at Waitrose (especially if you are 44, frumpy and look as sad as you do in those saggy track pants). But you might get some great 3 for 2 offers on fruit or stumble onto a new thriller by your favourite author or run into an old mate keen to catch up over a low-fat croissant. Realistic goals and expectations also pertain to your hopes for loved ones. Stop living vicariously and projecting disappointed longings, ego and preoccupations with status onto your partner and children.


9. Forget about what other people think. Define yourself in terms that makes sense to you. If that means you don't return certain calls, so be it. More time for the things you really want to do. You will have met loads of new people following steps 1-8 above anyway - many of whom will have no preconceived notions about you!


10. Take yourself with a grain of salt. Lighten up. Keep things in perspective. 


Finally, above all else, eat only good chocolate and don't expect to be happy all the time. 


Oh and remember that through the tough times comes growth and learning, resilience and humour, maybe new found strengths and friends and the knowledge gained first hand that shoes and football teams don't really matter when the chips are really down...


So that is what I can offer. 


As I re-read this though I feel a little bit doubtful. Does anyone really wants this sort of advice? It is all very well to dole out the answers but what happens when the reader just can't be "bovvered" to join the gym or focus on the simple and good things in her life while her partner spends every night making home brew in the garden shed, texting his mates? What good is the above list if the reader cannot even work out a reasonable expectation from a crazy delusional pipe dream? 


Maybe there is a reason that cook books sell so well. Perhaps I need to pen "Navigating the Terrain between Slow and Quick Cooking: The Ultimate Guide for Wannabe Domestic Deities" or all those who would kill to look as good as Nigella (or Jamie for that matter). 


But what do I know about cooking? Pesto, salad, roasting things?


Perhaps I should pen a thriller? A follow up to the Millennium trilogy in which Lisbeth meets "The Girl with the Bad Advice" and has to single-handedly take on the entire self-help movement, slow cooking establishment, Jedi Revivalist cult speaking Swedish and winning over apprentice domestic goddesses starved almost to death on the Skittles diet favoured by slim girls everywhere...

Trick or treat?

I began this blog in the Springtime as the little leaves were budding outside my room, the daffodils formed a carpet in the shadows of the trees in the garden and the days grew longer and milder and promised a warm and bonny summer ahead.

This morning we turned our clocks back an hour and now we see out the summer with all the crazy commercial madness that Halloween has turned into over the past few years in the UK. Outside, the leaves are yellow and red, orange and brown; most days there is rain. The skies are often leaden, but the oppression of the grey is still elusive. There is still enough daylight and warmth to keep those sensations at bay. For now amidst the excitement of tricks and treats and then fireworks next weekend for Guy Fawkes night, then the (7 week) rush to Christmas, it will be some time before the winter really gets us down.

More significant perhaps than the details of the festivities of this particular season - the costumes, the pumpkins, the sweets - is the passage of time; the never-ending cycle of our lives that brings us once more to an Autumn.

There is a magic in the showers of rain that impede our outings. There is a frisson in the morning air. The crunch of leaves and the peril of uncollected dog droppings squelching beneath them is always exciting. The fairy lights and Christmas lights herald a joyful anticipation (and a huge anticlimax) as we approach the "holidays" and no matter how nostalgic or sad the short days and chill evenings may leave us feeling, we can always head to the shops for our fill of commercial and capitalist glee and purpose.

It is hard to be cynical when everyone else is so moved, so excited. The radio reported that 30% of the nation have begun stocking up on food for Christmas - spreading the cost - they said. (That's not all they will be spreading, thinks Springgirl.) The Off-Spring caught the Halloween bug in the communal garden some weeks ago. Long before October began, but shortly after the shops began selling the orange and black wrapped sweets and cards and faux spiders' webs (early September when the back to school shelves were depleted and the kids were off our hands once more), the collective imagination was seized by the notion of dressing as ghosts and ghoulies and asking the neighbours for sweets. Springgirl is not poo-pooing the occasion - hey, each to their own. It is just that celebrating without understanding the underlying meaning of an occasion always feels purposeless and wanton. Perhaps it is my convent upbringing....

So I explained to to two of the Off-Spring (well all three were present but one is not attending the trick or treating and sausage sizzle due to some naughty behaviour for which Springgirl is secretly grateful as she can also miss out...) that Halloween comes from the Celtic festival of Samhain (the end of the harvest and beginning of the "darker half" of the year) and the Christian holiday of All Saints' Day.

In that way the Off-Spring were warned that the sweets symbolised the end of the plentiful "light half" of the year and should thus be consumed sparingly (not all within 10 minutes tonight) and saved to cheer the dark days ahead.

"Oh come on Springgirl, lighten up," you may think. "You are always telling everyone to lighten up. It is just a bit of fun, some dressing up, some laughs."

Indeed.

I do have sympathy for our Parish church which sent a plaintive suggestion in the last two newsletters - a valiant attempt to shut the gate after the proverbial horse, firmly behind the cart, had strayed - that children might like to dress as saints.

Nevertheless, but for the communal garden, that richest source of community, entertainment and education in an urban landscape of anonymity and consumption, we would not be traipsing into this new territory. Unless one is constantly taking one's children shopping one can avoid much of the hype, after all. So I am grateful for this opportunity to inform them about times gone by and the union of the pagan with the Christian and the endless cycle of the seasons and man's courageous attempts to shackle and control the environment through marking such occasions, while I book a check up at the dentist.

Seriously though, I have always loved Autumn in the UK. The colours of the leaves and the crispness of the air are restorative and invigorating. The streets seem fresher despite the day's fall of leaves. The air seems purer despite the huddles of smokers drawing warmth from their cigarettes. The stars seem brighter, when one can get out of the city to see them. While much of the natural world prepares for sleep now, still more of it seems to teem with life and purpose.

So with renewed purpose and motivation I collect conkers and make apple crumbles and cobblers, soups and stews. I hunker down of an evening with rich pickings of programmes to catch up on. I baton down the hatches preparing for the storm of preparation for the seasonal celebrations at school (PTA busy season just around the corner) and I revel in the spring that comes into my step as the cool autumn winds blow out the cobwebs in my mind.

I have a new book idea to work on now, having finished "Tom's Dreamflight" and created a colourful and if I do say so myself, delightful, calendar of "Tess and the Seaside Girl". Turning to marketing them - well, what better to do on a cold grey Autumn Sunday than settle down with a good book (specially targeted at 8-11 year old boy readers). And how better to prepare the little ones for 2011 and all that lies in store than with a beautiful calendar of original prints depicting a little girl's seaside odyssey?

Best of all, it is raining now! As we prepare to venture to the country to visit friends we relish the prospect of donning the Wellington boots and splashing in puddles and squelching through mud (rather than dog-do), of sitting by an open fire perchance and sipping hot drinks brewed with love.

Alas, no trick or treating if it rains though...

A friend for the summer...

Some time ago I posted here about a story I had written for children and my ambition to "get it out there" - as a result of which I illustrated it myself - despite my wanton lack of talent as an artist. Since then I have spent far too much time learning the subtleties of Microsoft Paint, Powerpoint, PDF creation and how to use HTML(?). Indeed. 


The end result is "Tess and the Seaside Girl" - an e-book for 4-8 year olds, replete with nostalgic prose and pictures that will appeal to anyone who has longed for a friend for the holidays.


Tess' story is, I think, one with universal appeal. Timeless and ageless and culture crossing. While I risk sounding even more self-promoting than usual, I have realised that if I want to generate a following for my writing, ideas or work, then I have to tell you what is in it for you.


So I will tell you a story to make my point.


...... 


Do you ever consider what sort of story yours would be if you were telling it for the big screen? Or the little screen, for that matter?


Some time ago I worked in a very eccentric office. We were the lawyers who drafted the legislation that wound up becoming the laws of the Commonwealth of Australia, so you can imagine just how eclectic a group we might have been. Being young and fun and full of ideas, I (together with another lawyer/good friend) scripted some episodes of "OPC (Office of Parliamentary Counsel)" - you know the sort of thing - "Ally McBeal" meets "The Office" meets "Yes Minister". The scripts and the plots lines were nowhere near as amusing as the casting though. Naturally, someone bright, attractive and classy - out of the reach of all Hollywood slander and gossip - was to play me. I cannot remember who it was, to be frank...


Anyway, we had a huge (notional) budget for name actors and created a cast replete with Jeff Goldblum, Carrie Fisher, Danny De Vito and William Hurt. We had Meg Ryan, George from Seinfeld and Helen Hunt. We told some of our colleagues who had been cast to play them - it was a very effective way of keeping one's friends close and one's enemies closer. Obviously we did not tell the guy in question that Danny DV was to play him... But by and large our casting was either very apt or very flattering because it really captured the imagination of the office for a few weeks back in the summer of '96. Indeed, some of the staff emailed me asking who was cast as them - I was put on the spot more than once. It all seemed real and magical, at the same time. As if somehow, by saying it, we could create a fantasy land where the silver screen could come alive all around us. Where tedious concerns like proof checking and remembering to bring cakes to Friday morning tea were put aside for more urgent and glamorous calls on our time.


A year or two ago I posed the question at my then workplace - open plan professional services - quite a different kettle of fish, really, from my first real job at OPC. My neighbour - a 28 year old, bright and upcoming structured tax financier - told me without a moment's hesitation that Matthew McConnaughey might manage to play him. A range of dashing, well toned and tanned, albeit somewhat empty headed, leading men were proposed by the rest of the "bay" (area of desks) to play them. It was inspiring just how well the Gen Y chaps thought of themselves.


Now, in another world again - self-employed author, blogger, chair of the PTA, coach and often-home-alone-with-husband-abroad-mother-of-three - the story is more gripping than the cast. It is a story that we all know and relate to, after all.


This is not to say that the cast is superlative. No, the mother would be played by someone like Cate Blanchett (capable of looking like death warmed up but also gorgeous when need be). The father would be someone we all like - he would not be in much of the film so it is not that important - maybe Hugh Jackman, maybe Denzel Washington...


But the really important thing is the story itself. It will be told in the mocumentary style. It will seem real but it will in fact be actors playing the parts of these ordinary and simple folk in west London in summer.


The plot is not extraordinary. The tale of a mundane and humdrum urban life as seen through the eyes of the mother. Voice over, naturally.


The backdrop of London is always a seat filler - think Four Weddings, Notting Hill, Love Actually, myriad crime dramas, Spooks. Against this backdrop we then have the interplay of social comedy and high emotion. As a summer tale - London is half empty as all of the school children and their families have cleared out for warm and sunny climes - it is a sure-fire box office hit.


The story will revolve around the joy and pathos of family life in the city. The antics of the little family as they embark on "summer at home". The action packed scenarios of holidaying in the city. Boarding the buses with overflowing gym, grocery, craft and lunch bags. The missed calls on the mobile, promising an elusive play-date, client meeting or call-back from the builder. The romps in the park. The bickering over the last brioche, last bath and later bedtime. 


There is plenty of humour and drama.


And tension. Imagine the camera panning down the aisles at Waitrose - will she buy Frosties or Rice Crispies? Full-fat or semi-skimmed milk? White bread or wholemeal? Which washing detergent? Come on Mum, it's holiday time. Give the kids a treat, we urge. Yes, Frosties win! 


Will Mum get the sleep-in she begs for? Will Grandad muddle the time difference and call before dawn on a Sunday - again? Will the reduced price Pinot Grigio taste like reduced price Pinot Grigio? Which priest will say mass? Will it rain all day? Will the children enjoy making faux stained glass windows at the museum and if they do, will Mum meet anyone interesting there? Will there be any leather school shoes in the sale? Will the littlest one be able to sit through a 90 minute session at the cinema? Will the strange lady who lives on the communal garden become more friendly? Would the living room seem bigger if the sofa was by the other wall? Will the children be persuaded that pasta with pesto is still their favourite meal? Is take away dinner really worth it? Can people really live without a tv?


Then there is the bit where the family is due to meet for a longed-for play-date with old friends soon to embark on their summer vacation. Suddenly, at the last moment as the family steps out the door to journey to the park for the picnic, the phone rings. The other mother is calling to check on the weather across town. Lo and behold, she hears the sounds of a sniffle, a blocked nose, in the voice and inflection of  Mum/Cate. Without warning, the date is cancelled.Why? "We do not play with germs". Fearing the worst sort of infectious disease to ruin their trip away, the friends beg off. "We shall catch up another time." The family is left alone and bereft in the street. Nothing to do, no one to see. Friendless and feckless.


And so the audience is exposed, fleetingly, to the vagaries of women, socialising and germs, topics so immense and serious as to be beyond the scope of this trite little play. Themes not lightly touched upon in an unambitious comedy of errors such as this. And yet, the story takes a turn. The great themes of love and friendship, loyalty and self-preservation seep in. The background music becomes melancholy. Cate is faced with bigger issues now. Who can she turn to in her loneliness? Facebook? Twitter? Marie Claire? Netmums? Is it wrong that she feels so let down?


Dammit, they kept the whole day free!


And here come the twist!


Confronted with 6 spare hours they had not expected to have, Cate and the children make hay! Their creative juices fired up with the indignation of being cast aside so coldly - they begin writing and painting and drawing, baking and cleaning and sorting.


What a blessing it is to have a long lazy summer at home with no one to see, nothing to do, nowhere to be and no one to have to spend any of it with!


The freedom, the scope for uninhibited self-expression, the unstructured joy of a day left empty and unplanned...


......


So anyhoo. Where was I? Oh yes, the casting couch.


No - before that.


Yes, Tess, and the timeless quest for a kindred spirit with whom to share the lazy, relaxing, joyful and sunsoaked (or cloudy, as the case may be) freedom, of summer time.


Her story really does resonate. 


I hope that Tess' other adventures will also find their way into an e-book shop near you before too long.


And perhaps a range for grown up readers:


Tess and the longest night.
Tess and the running away from home.
Tess and the ripped wallpaper.
Tess and the horrible sink blockage.
Tess and the strange man.
Tess and the big fat person's shirt.
Tess and how she ceased to be invisible at the gym (when other ladies kept taking the equipment she was using).

Summer time malaise? Time for black out curtains and a kind word.

I have been a bit remiss with my blog posts this past few weeks. Blame it on the summer!


The Off-Spring are awake later and later every night. As my avid readers would have gathered by now, I am a strict believer in bedtime. 8.15pm is about my limit, and that is a 30 minute extension to the winter time cut-off.  By 8.30 I want the three boys well on their way to the land of nod, lavender on the pillows to soothe them on their journey, story told or read and teeth brushed and polished. Yet, most nights now I am just settling into "my work" at 9pm when a little voice chimes out or a little face appears. Number 3 seems to be having a growth spurt and seeks more food after lights out and the last kiss is blown (and the last threat delivered). Number 2 then slinks up the stairs to my pseudo office space (one end of the living room sofa) to inform me that sleep eludes him. This can be up to 30-40 minutes after the third and final "be quiet and go to sleep or you will not be able to wake up in the morning and do good work and play well!". When finally silence is assured and no one needs attention, any creative urge, juice or energy I may have been about to summon an hour previously, is now evaporating like a tiny shred of vapour into the outer limits of the stratosphere and I find myself once more resorting to The West Wing reruns for company.


In itself this is not a bad way to spend my time.


But I had wanted to blog twice a week, so I feel disconnected with the process and worst of all - my thoughts - which for me was the truly amazing and delightful part of the whole blogging thing. Admittedly not much has happened lately so finding a topic is something of a challenge. Though, having said that, I do have a long list of potential topics stored in a draft blog somewhere behind the scenes here, so I suspect it a question of motivation and energy, plus squeezed time, rather than a lack of inspiration that is to blame for the parlous lack of output of late.


So what have I been doing with my time? As most of you know - time is elastic after all and we tend to make use of what we have somehow.


A Stocktake of why I am not delivering to Springgirl's timetable:


1. PTA chairmanship involves a lot of talking even before the role is assumed. I have been focussed on fund raising ideas for the Off-Spring's school for the next academic year. This involves political manoeuvres to quell discontent, build good will and engender support, while fact finding and information gathering.


2. Job hunting and attendant interviewing is a distraction. Needing to earn some cash (books and coaching do not a fortune make, alas) I am offering my services to law firms. I had thought that I should try them first since I am a lawyer. Who better to train, coach and teach lawyers than the only people they tend to respect - other lawyers. I am hopeful. Thankfully, living in London, exposes one to a huge market should none of the lawyers want me. My passion for engaging talent and developing leadership and potential will surely find a good home?


3. Attempting to create an e-book out of Tess and the Seaside Girl - a picture book I wrote last year and illustrated over Easter - languishing on my laptop for three months, is very time consuming for a non-Gen Y/ non-computer trained/non-geek. Tess is a lovely story and deserves to be told. Indeed, Tess has many more stories yet to tell. But if the seemingly insurmountable technical issues surrounding uploading, downloading, embedding fonts and finding a way to read a book online are allowed to get the better of me - the whole thing will have been in vain. Hence the need for a job. With a steady income I can pay someone more savvy and efficient than I, to do it for me!


4. But getting to know the character, Tess, was not in vain. Indeed, Time and Blog-motivation Depletion Factor 4 is the fact that she has been speaking to me a lot. No I am not bonkers, hearing voices and such. Rather I have been inspired to create a new website oriented towards women, the young at heart and anyone interested in wellbeing and enhancing their quality of life (all of us!) full of Tessisms and tips and hints for living a more Tessish way. Who is Tess, you ask? I will tell you soon, but not yet.


5. The West Wing - 14 episodes of Season 2 - stand between me and my last good blog post. The programme is the epitome of class and intelligent tv writing and is frankly, addictive. Why have I let it get the better of me now? I have watched it at least 4 times over - Love Film has me on their preferred and frequent borrower lists - and yet it never gets old. With the seasons of Good Wife and Brother and Sisters coming to a close, what was I to do?


6. A strange incapacity to blog during the day. I think this is partly due to creative energy being greatest when one is feeling the most relaxed and partly due to the day being filled with such lovely things that I hate to forego. I am free every day from 9 to 3 when the Off-Spring are at school and yet I manage to fill those 6 hours with chores and grocery shopping, gym and fitness, socialising and keeping in touch with/abreast of the world. It has to be said that Virgin Active have some amazing instructors and excellent classes and like The West Wing, it is hard to stop at just one some days. Indeed, pilates and aqua aerobics in deep water are incredibly therapeutic while toning and strengthening without causing perspiration. The fact they appeal to the older female members may also have something to do with it. 


7.  A sense of hiatus. Last week I was struck by a huge sense of grief concerning my mother's death 14 months ago. The reality that she is not just on a cruise or in intensive care (two handy delusions; I recommend them highly) has been hitting home. I still cannot comprehend it and the sense of loss is perhaps even greater now than it has ever been. I shall divert some time to the stages of grief (again) and see what might be lurking around the corner. The fact that I seem to have done denial for so long is a bit of a worry... But while a sense of loss or grief seems to come from nowhere it is not in fact a freak storm that no one could see on the horizon. One chooses to ignore the warning signs of course. One keeps the hatches battened down against the little breezes of sadness or malaise that blow through. Then suddenly in the middle of the gym floor while leg pressing some 50 kgs one is completely overcome with sorrow. Folk are funny.


8. Feedback. I have been chewing over some feedback on my book, "Spring to Mind" - or more accurately lack of feedback from certain quarters. I can attest that some of the comments made have humbled me and moved me immeasurably. One acquaintance told me she had to stop reading it on the tube due to the tears it was occasioning her. Another described the goosebumps she felt in certain bits. Another says it is her book of the year. The laughter and amusement it brought to my oldest friend buoys me still, as does her kind reviews and support. Nevertheless, and despite all the positives, I was grappling for several weeks with a deafening silence from a few close friends. Funny how one lets those little niggles get in one's way. And yet...  


Writing, like art, is an expression of the self. An interpretation of experience and the world and the human condition. Whether a comic book or a Christmas card, the manifestation of the thoughts or ideas of the author are valuable. We may not agree with everything or indeed, anything, said, but we can at least accept that something has been said. Can't we?


Accordingly, I have struggled with the silence or non-engagement. Are they trying to be tactful, to spare me? Are they just too busy or just no interested? And if the latter, why should they be? So this lack of engagement opened up for me an internal dialogue about "feedback". The challenge has been to interpret the silence in a helpful way. When I trained to become a coach, the course involved some focus on giving and receiving personal messages. Not - "love your shoes" (although I did hear that quite often), but things like "I appreciate x, y or z about you", or "it was helpful when you did or said such-and-such". Anyway, at the time a relatively high proportion of the attendees declined to hear the feedback about themselves. I was startled - being an attention seeker from way back I was revelling in a moment of spotlight. Not only that, but we had been told to only give positive feedback - I was champing at the bit to both give and take - but several colleagues were overcome with embarrassment, dread and fear at the very thought. This was a great learning experience for me. Maybe all those years of debating, fighting my corner in a big family and becoming a lawyer did me some good after all. Because it would appear that many people really struggle with giving and receiving feedback.


So, in the face of that, the silence, left me pondering. Would they ignore news of a new job, new partner, new baby, a holiday just taken?  Surely something one is excited about tends to be a suitable topic for discussion with friends?


Was I being too precious? 


A new friend who I met through writing advised me that writers need to be impervious to all feedback. She said this includes disinterest. 


Finally I made my peace with it. Not consciously as is so often the case with life's imponderables - but through sheer effluxion of time (and boredom). I disagree with the idea that one should be impervious to feedback. Good feedback is rich and valuable and meaningful. And by good I do not mean "favourable". An absence of interest is also those things too. Confronting and disappointing, but informative and enriching too.


And that of course begs the question - am I too, guilty of this lack of interest or care? Have I delivered or failed to deliver feedback thoughtfully or respectfully? When is silence the best response?


......


The papers report that July is our grumpiest month due to high humidity and resulting lack of sleep. Perhaps that accounts for my procrastination. I do long for some chilly days. And these long twilights can be too much. Once Wimbledon is over I am pretty well done with summer.I think we should skip August entirely and have two Septembers  8.30pm is late enough for the sun/son to be up and about. And those horrid little flying ants that appear from nowhere on hot still days - euugrh. That is one creature I am happy to walk on.


So where does that leave me. Shall I sum up?


Stocktaking is a very useful way to clear out the detritus of old thinking and living.


Hiatus and loss come in many forms. It is enabling and energising to find ways to accept those experiences and put them to positive uses.


During times of lethargy The West Wing is balm for the soul.


One should never overlook the kindness of strangers or those with a word of support or a smile of encouragement.


Blackout curtains that allow for decent air through-flow are a must for all, especially mothers. (Note to self to buy, make or invent.)


Feedback welcome!