Beach-combing Boy

We visited St.Agnes on a glorious day, just right for relaxing on the beach; needless to say Clive had his camera. He left me  with my notebook - below are the words that formed.

Beach-combing Boy

Lying on soft summer sand

I watch him ~

Clambering, searching

Shapes in crevices,

Rocky pools ~

For hidden gems.

Now sitting, trying to read ~

I smile, watching him more.

Kneeling, peering ~

Nose to objects,

Lens to subjects ~

Fingers touching, turning over.

        Kids paddle, scream.

        Dads build sandcastles.

        Mums hope for a moment of peace.

        ~

        Dogs chase balls

        Into the rushing sea ~

        Where surfers ride the waves

Hot sunshine warms my soul.

I laugh at his antics ~

A noisy ocean booms behind him.

He is oblivious,

Lost in creation ~

Seeking the perfect shot.

He moves across busy beach

With contented grin.

Head down, still searching ~

Bare feet leaving prints of sand.

I wait for him to remember me.

I watch him. I love him.

 

When he came back he had found this heart stone amongst rocks and seaweed; a perfect shot. And I have the perfect souvenir.

I think it will make a great romantic card!

See you soon, PPx
 

St. Agnes 28.07.2012

Muck for Luck ?

Hello,  one day last week, on a whim after work, and because the sun was briefly making an appearance, we dashed home, quick change, and headed to St.Ives. The tide was slowly on its way in and the special light was all around; Clive busied himself photographing the scenes.

Crowds were gathered above a small cove where earlier in the day someone had left evidence of having had a lazy afternoon. Small pebbles balanced on larger ones; balanced on stones; balanced on rocks; balanced on boulders - quite a sight. I hope you can get the idea from the photo below taken in the evening sun, here the rocks could be mistaken for a family of meerkats! We thought that they must be held together by superglue, but apparently not - only by sheer determination and patience.

Strolling around visitor-watching I was so glad to see families at last able to enjoy sandy beaches, quaint cafes, modern bars and traditional pubs. I watched people buying gifts from wonderful galleries, treats and souvenirs from the great mix of shops. A good day for the local businesses.

People wandered slowly in their shorts and flip-flops, T-shirts and sunglasses; the uniform of Cornwall ... Many, including us, were trying to decide where to have their evening meal, the choice is huge and varied; but many had opted for the old favourite of a pasty in a bag!

As usual we breathed in the fresh clean air and reminded ourselves how lucky we were to be able to have all this on our doorstep. Clive carried on clicking and I carried on thinking, wondering how I could capture and express the good feelings of joy and happiness the Sun and St.Ives had given to us on a Tuesday night in July, when I wasn't on holiday!

We decided to eat at a cafe on the beach where we had enjoyed a lovely meal once before. We opted to sit on the covered decking area but as most tables were booked we had to sit in a corner, half under cover and half not. We didn't mind, it was a warm evening and we had a bird's eye view of the beach below us and the sea flowing in. I sipped wine while watching people pack there beach bags and walk reluctantly away, dragging their bare feet one last time through the luscious soft sand.

We gave our order and waited for the food. I was probably fantasing about winning the lottery, hypnotised by the view, dreaming of buying a house on top of the cliffs - and then it happened. Splosh!!!! No such word I know, but that's what it sounded like, and felt like as it hit the back of my new jacket, my left ear, and my cutlery simultaneously.

I did not swear. I don't swear. But boy could I feel a glut of colourful language struggling to get out. I remained calm. I was in a public place. It happened so quick, none of the other diners seemed to notice my silent hysterics as I peeled off my jacket. It had to be a seagull, they are so accomplished at poohing and flying at the same time, like fighter jets firing their missiles without slowing down. I know. It has happened to me before. And you've guessed it, in St.Ives!



Clive gallantly tried to wipe off the surface waste with copious amounts of serviettes (they were paper, not damask napkins), while I cleaned my ear. The waitress arrived with our food. We explained what had happened, she was totally cool, picked up the soiled cutlery with the mound of serviettes, as if it was an everyday occurrence. It probably was. But as I my Mother would have said - "don't be soft, tha knows what they say - muck for luck" - she was very superstitious.

I suppose on reflection, after a week has gone by, I'm still alive, my jacket washed like new, we still live near St.Ives, and the seafood pie was delicious!

Until next time,
PPx

I’ve missed you – even though I’m not sure who you are. I used to write as if I was chatting to you only ~ I hope you’ll still humour me, read my ramblings!

I won’t bore you with the details why I haven’t been blogging since last year; suffice to say I now have a new challenge. With my husband, we create, design, write and publish our photo-art cards. I thought I would keep you posted periodically on our progress; a new business is exciting, but very scary! We are also supporting our local children’s hospice in the process.

Sunday morning reflection: Today I wanted to share with you the difference receiving a card, for whatever reason or occasion, can make. In this instance my recent birthday, a day I was only too willing to forget. But family friends did not. The cards started coming two weeks earlier, always the first from Australia. They gradually started to pile up on the mantelpiece. Finally on the day, my husband brought all 19 of them to me in bed, along with the usual cup of tea.

At 6am my eyes would not focus. I went on to automatic pilot, finished getting ready for work. During porridge he came to help me open them! Beautiful words and sentiments tumbled out of each card. A wonderful mix of: funny, moving, romantic - the latter of course from Clive – through them all I could feel true wishes of love; how lucky am I?

Words upon words, strung together making pretty meaningful sentences and phrases, designed to make me smile, laugh, think and in some cases cry.

Obviously I’m going to advocate the sending of cards, but they really do make a difference. Being reminded that others care about you is very comforting.

Until next time,
PPx

PS: The photograph below formed the card Clive made for me. He knows I love this image, taken from the cliffs above Porthcurno on Logan’s Rock. The mass of heather in the foreground points the way, emphasising the sea far below. A dizzying, exhilarating experience. The personalisation makes the card unique.

If in doubt – post a Parkes Card! x

Lazy Sunday.

It will come as no surprise that I have spent most of Day 2 of 2011, inbetween cooking meals, writing.

I've been writing more of my current fictional project. I'm enjoying it so much that I am in danger of getting too excited. Do you know what I mean? Have you experienced it too? It's a new genre for me, yet the same story I've been wanting to write from a different angle; I think it's working. Fingers crossed.

Strange isn't it that just by taking a look from another perspective something original can begin.

At the back of mind I am conscious that in just over 48 hours I will be getting into work mode, preparing my lists and tasks for January. I have already prepared an agenda for a coupe of meetings on Tuesday. I suppose you could say that this is writing also, but not the sort I love. However, I need work to provide a security in which I can relax and write what I want to.

To complete my lazy, enjoyable Sunday I have put the roast in the oven, my bath is run, the candles are flickering and the chilled wine is poured. So excuse me while I select a book to read, better still I shall take my notebook!

Thanks for reading me, (does this mean I'm sort of published?)I love you!
PP

This Saturday feels different:

Because it’s the first day of a New Year.Fresh thoughts on old dreams; maybe even new dreams.

The old calendar is taken down and replaced. This year we have a huge one with glossy monthly views of Brisbane, sent to us by a special friend who emigrated a year ago; one day we hope to visit - a new dream.

My 2010 diary is put away on the bookshelf, a smart new one goes in the handbag.365 blank pages ...

Today’s entry might be remembering yesterday, as we ended 2010 by driving down to the beach at Porthcurno. Thankfully no snow or ice but deep sand, cold winds and high waves climbing the surrounding cliffs.

On the way home we stopped to see the famous Christmas lights in the small Cornish village of Mousehole where many, many visitors descend. Yesterday was no exception.

The lights hang around the village and harbour walls. They are far better than the sample above, but I just wanted to send you greetings from Cornwall.

You cannot visit Mousehole, anytime of the year, without looking out at the rough seas beyond the harbour and remembering the many lives lost over the years; sobering thoughts before the popping of champagne on New Year’s Eve.

I've spent the first day of 2011 doing what I love best, writing. Editing and adding to the various ongoing projects which I hope I will be able to share soon.

I hope your day was happy too.

Until the next time,
Best New Year Wishes to you – PP.

The Friday Feeling ...

My usual feelings on a Friday would be – Yipee! The weekend starts here – but today is not an ordinary Friday because another year starts here very soon.

If I could share one piece of advice given to me during the latter part of this year, as I’ve been trying to find the right words in the various assignments I’ve been set on my course, it would be, in a nutshell, ‘don’t over-think, just write Pauline write.’ Very true.

Have a fabulous evening.
Here’s to a happy and healthy New Year, and the exciting challenges 2011 will no doubt bring.

Keep writing!

PPx

A Dress Code?

We are going away at the weekend and I’m making a start on the packing. I have a dress I’m going to take that after I bought it caused me regret and dilemma. Looking at it again has made me ponder; something like this.

I bought it on impulse in a sale. I suppose the keen price tag and in my size was why I gave it a second look. But the real attraction was the feel of the soft material, the way it hung in easy flowing lines, and the swirl of colours, shades of blue and mushroom. Small details also caught my eye, covered buttons, slinky belt and small cap sleeves. I just loved it, and bought it.

Unfortunately the dress has hung in my wardrobe for a couple of years unworn, apart from a couple of times in the house when I’ve ‘tried it out’. Why? Because it's too short, just on the knee. Or rather I think it’s too short to wear with only a pair of tights and shoes for support; what a wimp I am!

Then I noticed the younger girls at work looking very smart in similar styles. I asked myself, what was the difference? On closer inspection it was the layer-look, boots and leggings. I had boots, suitable fine tops, all I had to buy was a pair of leggings and put them altogether. Hey Presto!

You’ve probably worked out by now what I’m trying to suggest in relation to writing. Rarely do first ideas and drafts work, as I can testify on a weekly basis; they always lack something, or plenty. Most of the main points are usually there, characters, style, plot, setting, dialogue, but they might be in the wrong order or need another ingredient to fuse the various elements together; like I said, it’s just a thought.

Don’t throw anything away, look at it from another angle, tweak with a fresh addition. I did, and was described as looking ‘cool’ by those same young girls in the office; I’ve been studying my writing more closely too.

Till next time.
PP

Still dreaming ...

A few days ago I ended my blog in the bath, dreaming. I had also digressed because I meant to say that while we were strolling around Morrab Gardens in Penzance, we passed the little French bistro we occasionally go to for a treat. Sitting at a window table on her own was a lady, presumably waiting for her food to arrive, drinking a glass of white wine and reading a book. The sun was streaming in through the window and she was oblivious of my envious backward look as husband dragged me away from gawping at her.

I know there's nothing unusual about someone reading a book at a table, but something always stirs in me, an irrational jealousy almost, as if I cannot do that. I think it is because I am witnessing two of the things I like to do, reading and drinking wine; the act of putting them together is heaven.

Watching her reminded me of an evening in the summer when we went on the spur of the moment into St.Ives after work. We took Max and walked along the front, around the headland, across the top of the beaches, and stopped off at another favourite eatery. Sitting directly on Porthgwidden Beach it is a perfect spot. We tucked Max under one of the tables on the terrace and ordered food and drinks.

The early evening sun was still warm and we had uninterrupted views out to sea and the expanse of clean white sand below us. We had completely forgotten about our individual stressful days at work but chatted and laughed, marveling at how lucky we are to live so close to such a special place.

I must sound as if I work for VisitCornwall but what I wanted to say was, that I noticed sitting behind us, a man at a small round table, cutlery laid out for his meal and he was enjoying a glass of red wine, but he too was oblivious of us and others, he was quite content with his own company and his book in which he was immersed; a perfect image.

Of course through the summer I'm sure you must have noticed many people relaxing and reading. I saw lots on sun-loungers around the pool on holiday, on deckchairs on the beach, and even someone floating in one of those blown-up plastic chairs in a pool. The sheer enjoyment I saw on those faces, not a television or computer in sight, made me more than ever want to succeed at writing, to be part of giving people pleasure.

I dream of one day seeing someone reclining happily reading a book of mine, what could be more thrilling? But you've got to write it first girl, stop dreaming and blogging and start real writing!

Thanks for reading this of mine.
PP

My zing is coming back ...

Saturday was a crisp sunny day here in west Cornwall. We decided to walk through the park in Penzance - 'we' being hubby and Max who we had just collected from Angela, (otherwise known as 'Tufty'), she had given him his regular clip and looked adorable; Max that is, he's our dog. He always seems to prance about (max that is) more when he's just had a cut and blow-dry,like a spring lamb, but he's fourteen!

I left them briefly in the park while I popped into the library to look for a reference book which I couldn't find, and came out instead with three books I wasn't looking for: Selected Poems by Carol Ann Duffy, Someday I'll Find Me, Carla Lane's autobiography - great title - and The Manchester Affair by Elizabeth Elgin, written in the 70's. As soon as I got home I ran a bath and started to read it, with glass of dry white close by; the book was the perfect accompaniment.

Why I selected the latter I don't know, possibly because it's set in the North, my birth home, but maybe because when I picked it up, the water-coloured images of two women with expressions of consternation appealed straight away. Also, it was in hardback (a proper book) and, though covered in plastic, it felt good to hold, do you know what I mean? I'll let you know how I get on with it, I should really be reading more contemporary novels that will benefit my studies on my writing course, I won't tell if you don't.

I cannot help but dream that one day someone will select my novel from the thousands on the library shelves, will rush home, run a bath, pour a glass of wine and sink into the bubbles with me for company ... but in reality it will be so many years hence that I'll be downloaded from cyberspace onto a waterproof gadget that will hang on the bathroom wall like a flat TV screen, strategically placed for the bather to read and sip their tipple to their heart's content - but who will turn the pages?

Thanks for stopping by, see you soon,
PP

I've lost my zing ...

I cannot believe that three weeks have gone by since I last blogged. I was having such a good time chatting away to you, but then I dried up. Life got in the way. A bug came and went. Real work clogged my brain. Days on end of bad headaches, and suddenly it is now and I'm without fizz. Not the bubbly variety, maybe that's what I do need, but now I'm blaming the dark mornings and nights with only daylight at the weekends.

So now I flip through my diary to remind me of significant happenings, anything worth sharing, but I find that October was quite empty; just one-liners.

And then I notice the entry on Tuesday, October 12th, 'first of the Chilean miners should be freed tonight ...' I can hear the hope in my words and realise that while I was miserable, not firing on all cylinders, feeling sorry for myself, looking for my fizzing zing, those trapped miners were pacing their underground prison, praying for the rescue to be successful so that they could finally go home.

I am now going to give myself a firm, metaphorical kick up the backside - perhaps that's where my zing is!

See you tomorrow, I've just remembered something ...

Watching with a Writer's Ear?

... shouldn’t that be ‘a writer’s eye’? Well yes and no.

Last night I decided it was my turn to do the weekly ironing, especially as honey-bunch had turned his ankle on Friday night as we charged up Chapel Carn Brea, the most westerly point in Britain, chasing a sunset; a story for another day.

Back to the ironing. I set myself up in front of the tele, I have to listen or watch something while ironing or I think I’m wasting time! We decided to catch up on Downton Abbey, we had taped episode two. So with one eye on the period drama, the other on hubby’s work shirts, and both ears tuned to the dialogue, I found myself hanging on every individual voice, choice of word, inflection, pause, cough, breath, it was all cramming my mind as I whizzed over the tea-towels and his T-shirts.

Mind you, (I keep saying that for some reason), ever since I started this intense study of the varied world of writing, my senses have definitely raised their sensitivity. It hasn’t spoilt my enjoyment of reading or writing, on the contrary, it just gets more exciting and challenging with the added hope that one day someone might consider my work worthy of reading – and even publishing.

In between watching the interaction of the characters, so wonderfully portrayed by the choice actors in their authentic and glorious costumes, I cannot help but wonder what Julian Fellowes must be thinking as he watches his creation coming to life on screen. I know of course he is already very successful and acclaimed and must have had that feeling hundreds of times, but surely that first moment must never go away as your words are visualised and you see the fruits of your hard labour. I’m more than happy doing the hard labour but wait my turn and live in hope for the fruits.

In the meantime I shall carry on watching and listening, taking note of how every word contributes to a powerful piece of drama, and I shall continue to dream, remembering Dad’s words, that ‘hard work will always pay off’.

Tonight I will no doubt watch the third episode but I’ve no ironing left to do, maybe I’ll darn his socks instead ... ha ha.

Thanks for calling by,
PP

Still thinking - while driving.

I wish my commute to work was just 10 seconds up the stairs to my writing room, but alas, like so many thousands of writers out there, I have to go by car. It takes an hour and a half to travel the 50 mile round trip because they are Cornish roads; those who’ve visited will understand.

As I said on Sunday, because I have to fit my writing around full-time work (not to mention domestic things - here is my opportunity to praise my hubby; the best in the land, he does the lion’s share), when I cannot physically sit down at my laptop, or even scribble in the notepad joined to my hip, I need to optimise my time in other ways and do something useful.

Speaking for myself, I must spend as much time thinking, planning and pondering as I do actually putting words on paper. So on my journey into work and on my way home, I use the time to consider what I have prepared the night before and how I’m going to take it forward later.

I enjoy nothing more than being lost in my thoughts. Soothing instrumental classics creating a conducive ambience while I work out a scene or plot, and smiling to myself when I have that giddy feeling as a particular word pops into my head. The word becomes a seed, becomes a sentence.

You must think I’m boring or even selfish, and you could be right, but ultimately my goal is to write a piece that will give someone pleasure, evoke an emotion be it sad or funny. Words join our world together, with words we communicate, whether written down or spoken, and they have to begin somewhere before they can go anywhere and everywhere.

I hope some of mine make you smile and feel.

My motto is: Never put off until tomorrow, what you can write today.

Thanks for visiting.
PP

PS: Just for those concerned about me possibly not concentrating on the road ahead – my eyes are on my driving and my hands on the wheel – only my brain is switching gears!

Thinking time - walking.

Hello again,

Like many writers, I have to keep going to the day job, so I have to optimise every bit of down-time to prepare and influence what I really enjoy doing – writing. When I get home from work I need to adjust my thoughts and transfer the workings of my brain from crunching numbers all day to a raft of words which need putting together to form something worth reading.

My strategy for this transformation is two-fold: the first is to exchange the smart office clothes for casual and comfortable, the second, and most important, is to take our Tibetan Terrier for his walk up the lane, if we are not going to the beach.

I say ‘up’ because it is a subtle climb, but once at the top the panoramic views are worth every huff and puff! The tidy fields eventually meet the marshes and dunes, and unless there is a sea mist I can see a strip of the Atlantic Ocean; I need this daily fix of space, fresh air and beauty to remind me of why I shall return to our cottage to start work again; I love it.

Max is getting on now, and I’m not far behind him, so we don’t power-walk but move at a respectable pace, stopping frequently as is Max’s wont, to poke his nose around, smelling and searching for who knows what.

This half hour together rejuvenates both of us. During this time my mind gradually forgets the day that has gone before, and starts to switch into creative mode as I think about the current piece I’m working on; invariably I will come back with an idea or two, or a clearer view on what I am writing.

This is in the main due to the inspiration all around. For instance last night when we walked up the hill, I looked into the various fields on either side of the lane. Baby rabbits scooted across one field when they heard Max coming, and in others gorgeous calves grazed with their mothers, horses munched and sea-gulls flew over.

Then, while Max was concentrating on his bodily functions and I was poised with poo-bag, I looked across to the small field beyond the stream, he was watching me, bold as brass, Mr Fox. We stared at each other in disbelief, he kept staring until Max moved and then he was gone; if only I’d had my camera.

On the way back down the hill I absorbed the beauty in the still-colourful cottage gardens, and the change in the trees and hedgerows as Autumn quickly comes. The light is fading earlier and the wonderful, unmistakeable smell of crisp English air fills my lungs; not available in sunny Cyprus. It’s so good to be home and back to the crazy timetable of life.

Thanks for visiting.
PP

Final postcard from Cyprus - posted in England!

I cannot believe it is four days since I blogged, nor can I believe I am now home and back at the day job. There is a reason, I've been unwell, too much sun fried the creative bits of my brain. It was painful and serves me right for being smug about swimming before breakfast and all that.

I didn't want to leave Cyprus in limbo as the end of my previous blog was a little clliffhanger, which is why I hope you have come back to read more about 'Omar' and 'Tom'. I don't know their real names, but it amused me to think of the two brothers who owned the hotel where we were staying, as stand-ins on my holiday for the two actors and their famous characters.

We planned a sail around the bay and on to Famagusta (now a 'ghost town', apparently still as it was when the people fled in 1974). We would stop off for a swim and lunch on board, how romantic I thought, especially as the boat was called, 'Shirley Valentine', it's true! Unfortunately husband was poorly so we could not risk him ruining other people's day out by throwing up.

This is the part you'll love, I was told by a reliable source that the boat is owned by an English girl and her Greek Cypriot husband; you've got it, she had done a SV, stayed, and is now running the leisure cruise with Tom C.., I mean her husband; you couldn't make it up.

The references to Dr Zchivago & Shirley Valentine, made me wonder how the inspiration behind these stories came about for the two authors, Boris Pasternak & Willy Russell, as they brought the two ideas to life. But that's just it, the stories are on observations of real life; simple as that. Now all I have to do is take a leaf out of their books, so to speak, and write my own.

You'll be pleased to know, I hope, that I did not have to pay excess baggage on the way home. Husband 'reorganised' the packin, I had to agree to throw away magazines, oils and potions; it worked. But as we approached the check-in desk, with not a word of a lie, the whole computer/baggage system at Larnaca Airport crashed. I didn't touch a thing; it took the IT guys 45 minutes to find the fault and restore order. What an exit from Cyprus.

I hope you like the image of me that husband captured for you. He was under strict orders for there to be no face, cellulite, profile or cleavage.

'Speak' soon, PP.

Swimming with Swallows & Sparrows; another postcard from Cyprus

Hi again,

just had lunch by the pool but it is so hot I thought I would have chat with you.

Actually I'm feeling a little smug because the last two mornings I've swum ten lengths of the pool before breakfast, which I've never done before; it definitely wakes you up, despite the lengths only being short ones, and it's far enough for me!

I've been fascinated to watch thirsty swallows swoop down over the pool, take a sip and swoop off again, all in one smooth action. The sparrows are more friendly and cheeky, they constantly roam around the tables for crumbs, drink from the side of the pool and take shelter from the sun inside the terracota tiles on the roof.

My novel continues to take shape as I am able to focus on that only, apart from the dilemmas of what to wear, eat and drink.

The sign by the hotel reception says 'Library - downstairs', I've been to investigate. Five short shelves contain exactly 100 books; I counted them. There is something for most tastes from what I can see, a wide range of authors from Bernard Cornwall to Barbara Taylor Bradford, Judith Krantz to George Elliot to James Patterson. Khaled Hosseini's 'A Thousand Splendid Suns', through which I remember crying often and his famous 'Kite Runner', are also there. Alan Titchmarsh stands beside Andy McNab and Elizabeth Mc Gregor. The only biography appears to be of Billy Connolly, 'Billy' by his wife Pamela Stephenson - did I hear right that she's going to compete in 'Strictly Come Dancing'? - no comment.

So which one did I choose? 'The Perfect Lie' by Emily Barr because she was one of the authors I listened to when she came to speak at last months' Literary Festival in Penzance. She lives in Cornwall, as I do, I've read the first few pages and it begins in the area I know so well and love, I am now feeling a little homesick, though I think I shall survive until Sunday.

Well I must dash as need to cool down. Another swim with the swallows and sparrows will be perfect. PP.

PS: Must tell you tomorrow about Omar (as in Sharif/Dr Zchivago) and Tom (as in Conti, think Shirley Valentine); I'm so blessed to be greeted in the morning by one , and wished a good night by the other.

Postcard from Cyprus

Hi,
We are here - but I'm missing you already - and my laptop - so had to spend a couple of euros writing to you.

Our first experience and impression of Cyprus is very good and very hot! We landed just before midnight on Sunday, it was 26 degrees, during the days so far it has been blue skies all the way and high thirties; but we'll cope.

Do you remember me saying that I was going to bring a stack of writing magazines to catch up with, well I did and they cost us excess baggage! A large red label was fastened to my case saying, HEAVY; husband was not amused. He's over it now, and I'm massaging sun cream on his back and going to the bar at regular intervals by way of grovelling.

What I wanted to tell you was, that in between the serious stash of mags and books, I also brought a copy of the June 2010 issue of Woman & Home as passed onto me by my sister. I'm not familiar with it but spent all afternoon yesterday,by the pool of course, reading it; would you believe I found 9 articles/features referring to writers: their lives, views and work.

Among them was a piece by Sarah Duncan (I blogged about her last month after she'd been at the Penzance Literary Festival), she was giving her account of the 'empty nest' feeling as her daughter begins university; very funny.

There was an article on an experience of going to a literary festival (not me, if only), another one entitled, 'Books that change my mood' by Alexandra Shulman, Editor of British Vogue and judge for the Orange Prize for Fiction. There's also a regular page dedicated to a selection of the latest book releases.

I hope I don't sound like a promotion for W&H but it has proved to me how much information and inspiration can be gained from many areas and publications not specific to writing. I think it may also have something to do with the fact that my observational skills and senses have been heightened as I continue to study on this great course, and that I have to improve my ideas and imagination if I am to be successful.

Must dash, he wants his back creaming again and another beer!
PP

PS: When it gets too hot tomorrow I shall write again and let you know ...

Final surprise.

Hi again, I forgot to say last night that I have a surprise of my own for husband; I'm not taking my laptop!

That has been a big decision to make but I think I need a rest from computer screens. This doesn't mean that I shall not be writing, of course not. I am taking several note books and hope to fill them all. They may well come back greasy with sun cream and the pages evern scorched with sunshine (sorry to rub it in, if you pardon the terrible pun), but they will be my creation and ready to bring to life as I rewrite and edit.

By the way if you're interested in the books I'm taking to read, they are:

The Cloths of Heaven by Sue Eckstein, and Troubling Love by Elena Ferrante.

Very different books. I have already dipped into them and they are both addictive. I heard about the the first from Radio 4 as it was being dramatised or read, I can't remember which now.

The latter was recommended to me for the structure and point-of-view. The author, Elena Ferrante is Italian, (as you've probably guessed), and she is an important and acclaimed contemporary author in Italy, however, she has shunned public attention and has chosen to keep her identity a mystery. Intriguing.

Must dash, got a plane to catch.

'Speak' soon,

PP

12 hours to go ...

Hello again,

(that's the title of a song, by Neil Diamond I think, I digress)

Tomorrow morning we will be heading for the airport to fly to Cyprus. If you've been following my blog you will know that it is a surprise holiday from him in doors, as the famous Arthur Daley nearly said!

I won't be buying glossy mags at Exeter airport as I'm taking my own stash with me. Months of writing trade mags that I have been too busy to read. I've had too many deadlines with my course so now I am going to enjoy every page from cover to cover, and backwards.

I was just tweeting that while I am on a 10 day break from real work that pays the mortgage, I am not on a holiday from writing, it would be impossible. Every hour of every day I'm thinking, making notes, forming sentences, and that's how I like it.

So now my 10 day holiday is a time for me to relish and luxuriate in the job I'd really like to do full time. I will have so much to share when I come back, so watch this space.

Best wishes,

PP

Update on surprise holiday - 3 days to go.

Realisation & Preparation:
I'm really going on holiday - abroad - I know that for definite, but not the destination yet!

Better start thinking of what clothes to take, fortunately it's going to be hot, so skimpy and floaty will have to do, I need most of my baggage allowance for books!

Expectation:
Could it be the Caribbean, Crete or the Canaries? Please tell me I pleaded and wailed pathetically.

Frustration:
He could stand it no longer, keeping the secret had been painful for him; we're going to Cyprus!


Never been, can't wait. Obviously I showed my appreciation.

Now looking forward to inspiration. I may become prolific by the pool, Cocktail in one hand, book in the other; one day it could be mine ...

I'll write again before we leave.

PP

Last minute holiday surprise! - reaction ...

Reaction -

When my husband announced he'd booked a holiday as a surprise (it is our anniversary), I was completely flummoxed. He's not a big surprise sort of person; we discuss and decide on everything together. Usually. Anyway, naturally I was pleased but my first thought was - deadlines!

However, he'd had the foresight and thoughtfulness (that's why I married him), because he knows what I'm like, to make sure there is WiFi available. In the hotel? That's just it you see, the even bigger surprise is that he won't tell me where we are going; only that it will be hot and we go on Sunday!

Destination -
I tried all weekend to no avail, and he hasn't cracked yet. I'll let you know when he does. I've tried blackmail ...

Yet to come - preparation - expectation - anticipation - and hopefully the destination before Sunday.

See you soon,
PP