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I’ve been f(l)ailing in my duty somewhat, in my writerly self/blog, and actually have two new online reviews to point toward, here and here. Both kind and insightful. Heavens! Many thanks. I especially always appreciate it when reviews go onto amazon… those five stars go a long, long way. Says she mother of a twelve year old boy who steers much of his life around music, film, game and book starred reviews.

Might as well say thank you to the muse too, whoever she is for me, was for me in Losing You. She had something to say. Albeit in a quiet, succinct and mysterious kind of way.

I’ve been thinking a lot about these the last few days. For a number of reasons. It’s just that there are so many different types. And I seem to be awash in them, with them. The acceptance of a gift brings responsibility. And openness. The giving of one, in the best world, means letting go. And a sort of hope.

There must be a small but determined fleet of these gift bubbles — I can’t help but see them as such, blown from one of those plastic child bottles, in surprising and joyful profusion — taking to the air over our double-glazed lives. This morning there’s a hard frost, but the urge to strike out and join them is almost overwhelming.

First there was Your Messages. Now there is Disraeli Avenue, by Caroline Smailes. I met Caroline at the Your Messages launch. But sort of knew her already, as she’d kindly reviewed Losing You.

She was lovely. I liked her piece. I’m embarrassed to admit that I haven’t read her novel In Search of Adam yet (because I’m not the best in the world at doing exactly what I want when I want, believe it or not; hand on heart though it is actually right at the top of my list).

Disraeli Avenue coverAbout Disraeli Avenue: a novella by Caroline, downloadable, by donation. In support of adult victims of sexual abuse. Remember openness? Remember hope? Some days that’s all there is. When the bubbles disintegrate, we’ve got to make sure there are decent landings. Get this book. And give generously.

Losing You front coverBut here goes… Apparently Losing You is now available to download onto your very own mobile phone, for a fiver (GBP that is!). What you do is text ‘losing’ to 64888, hand over dosh, and the whole entire book is at your disposal: read it at your leisure, gawp on the train, purse your lips at the chemist’s, wipe your fevered brow…in bed? Race through screen after screen, ignoring every other commitment in your life….

You know you want to.

I haven’t tried this yet, but will. If someone gets there before I do, let me know how it goes!

red phonered phonered phone

Losing You front coverJust a quickie to note that 30 pages of said novel are now where they are supposed to be, in the Fiction-Novel section of this site. Something about pdf formats meant that I couldn’t use the one I actually had…Or something.

Feel free. And be tempted. Be oh so tempted.

As soon as we wake, we know it’s the sharpest frost yet this season. Just lying in bed, the air — or imagined air — feels like the holidays.

Of course, we have to struggle up and get E moving — a difficult job after many late nights of first play performances then yet another concert last night (samba band, choir, and wind band – heavens!). To his credit, by after breakfast he’s awake enough to notice the lightening sky, brushes his teeth looking out the new (lowered) windows, over the fields and out to Blean Wood. He stands at one, I stand at the other, and we don’t need to say much. Fine mist rises from the tops of hedges, and every branch and leaf, blade of grass, stands out in white relief. He’s out the door at twenty to eight, no doubt sliding first down, then up the hill to the bus stop.

Losing You launch tonight. Some long-standing friends will be there, some new ones, and doubtless others I’ve never clapped eyes on! Good. This morning I’m feeling thankful for all sorts of things.

Tree in winter frost

(image from a British wildlife site)


From January 2010, my new blog is Waving and Drowning


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Who am I?

A writer born in Texas, who grew up in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia (yes, like the song), and who's been living in the UK since 1988. I've published two books (see below), and teach creative writing at the University of Kent. I'm married to a composer, and we have two young children. See About for my full profile.