LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION: TWO LIGHTHOUSES AND A MADRID PENTHOUSE

TLKD LOCATION PIC COLLAGE.JPG

‘What made you set your story in a lighthouse?’ I’m often asked. The truth is, it wasn’t intentional. The story was inspired by my unexpected, Twitter-initiated friendship with a well-known flamenco guitarist – and I just found myself exaggerating our true-life locations: his comfortable house in outer Madrid became a penthouse apartment in the vibrant city centre, and my (then) near-coastal bungalow became my local lighthouse… at Beachy Head.

The Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter follows Imogen, borrowing her Aunt’s renovated lighthouse while recovering from the break-up of her marriage, and, thirty years earlier, her lighthouse keeper father on the nearby Beachy Head lighthouse – until he mysteriously drowned there in 1982. She discovers that he was intensely corresponding with a young female penfriend – just as she is, with (you’ve guessed it) an actor-musician Twitter friend in Madrid. They learn that these unexpected, irresistible connections can have wonderful – but also possibly tragic – consequences.

 

BEACHY HEAD

I think it’s common to want to run away to the coast; there’s something energising about it, as if reaching the edge of the land makes you face up to things. But Beachy Head is no ordinary edge: towering 530 feet above the sea, it’s the highest of the series of chalk cliffs undulating between Seaford and Eastbourne in the South Downs National Park. It takes Imogen a while to get used to the ‘the earth dropping and swaying beneath her’. Many years ago, as a heart-broken twenty-something, I escaped to Beachy Head myself – not to go anywhere near the edge, but just to stand there like some French Lieutenant’s Woman and feel sorry for myself. I didn’t know then that the area has always been a renowned suicide spot. Although numbers have been much reduced by the Beachy Head Chaplaincy team patrolling the cliffs to help despondent people, about twenty to twenty-five poor souls each year still lose their lives here – some unintentionally (the chalk cliff edges are notoriously unstable). Although there’s an awareness of this sadness, and danger at the cliff inevitably finds its way into the story, The Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter mostly celebrates the invigorating beauty of the area, just as local people and a million or so visitors do each year.

One of the reasons I chose the Beachy Head area for Imogen’s coastal escape was because it has not one but two lighthouses. The squat little Belle Tout was built in 1832, but the cliff top was often so foggy that its light flashes couldn’t be seen from the sea. It was decommissioned in 1902, a few days before the new lighthouse in the sea below Beachy Head was ready to take over. The Belle Tout has passed through the hands of a number of private owners, including two physicians, so it didn’t seem unreasonable for Imogen’s aunt and physician uncle to have bought it. It’s now a beautiful little B&B, and it was wonderful to be able to stay in the original keeper’s bunk room that became Imogen’s in the story.

I never got to see inside the Beachy Head lighthouse, but I was lucky to be able to spend a magical afternoon with lighthouse expert Rob Wassell (author of The Story of… books about the two lighthouses and Birling Gap) on a boulder-strewn low-tide walk to it. As Imogen says, ‘from the cliff top, it was an endearing, little red and white striped ornament; on the beach it is shockingly tall, its colours majestic, a sad and mysterious presence.’ Like many lighthouses at the time it became automated in 1982, making the keepers – and their profession – redundant; this impending change, which must have been very distressing for many of them, is an important element in her father’s story.

 

MADRID

Given the novel’s theme of communication, I wanted to include the viewpoint of Imogen’s Twitter friend Santi in Madrid. His setting is as contrasting as possible from hers; the land-locked capital city and the seaside cliff top initially make them feel like they might just as well be on different planets. My research in Madrid included the delightful but Spanish-taxing company of flamenco musicians, many weeks walking around the city, observation (and being asked to take over) a community English class, and a nerve-wracking audition for a television drama!

For someone with a fear of heights and a frequent dislike of capital cities, researching my two main settings for The Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter could have been a challenge, but I surprised myself by quickly falling in love with both places. I still visit my friends in Madrid whenever I can, and particularly enjoy all the flamenco venues, the Sorolla Museum, the Retiro, Jardines de Sabatini and numerous other glorious parks. As for Beachy Head – well, I now live five minutes from the lighthouse.

You can get a copy of The Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter from any good book shop, or online from various sites e.g.  https://www.amazon.co.uk/Lighthouse-Keepers-Daughter-Cherry-Radford/dp/1911583646/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1532207378&sr=8-1&pi=AC_SX236_SY340_QL65&keywords=cherry+radford&dpPl=1&dpID=51yBWY3XBwL&ref=plSrch

‘DESCRIBE THE SOUNDTRACK TO YOUR LIFE’ – AND OTHER IMPOSSIBLE INTERVIEW QUESTIONS

Spotify life soundtrack

How do you pick 5 songs for the soundtrack to your life? This was one of five questions in my most taxing but favourite online interview so far.

(Many thanks to @JillBookCafe. Check out FIVE ON FRIDAY in jillsbookcafe.wordpress.com to see others put through it).

 

 

  1. Which 5 pieces of music would you include in the soundtrack to your life, and why?

Blimey, are all the questions going to be this hard? Having put myself through these agonising decisions, I thought I’d make a Spotify playlist of them: http://sptfy.com/Eyj ENJOY!

Life on Mars? (David Bowie)

My big brother bought this LP, and I remember sitting on the carpet, legs all anyhow, poring over the album sleeve. Who was this strange, wonderful man? Until then, music had meant my parents’ Light Classics, used by my friend and me for hilarious made-up ballets in the living room. This was something else; Bowie took me somewhere I’d never been.

Étude Opus 10, No. 3 for Piano (Chopin)

Fast forward to Music College, where my Polish piano teacher had me playing plenty of Chopin. So beautiful, so emotional… so bloody difficult! Chopin will also remind me of my love of the piano, even if that love is not fully requited (I have pathetically small hands). This is just one of my favourites – and probably one of Jerome Kerns’ too, because Smoke Gets in Your Eyessounds just like it. [Listens as adds it to Spotify Playlist]. Hm. Bit teary.

Shining (Steel Pulse)

Let’s cheer up a bit with this irresistible bit of reggae. There’s so much going on in this track – busy bass line, percussion bitty-bobs and delicious vocal harmony asides everywhere – one play is never enough. And oh, the lyrics – including a classic line for a late developer like me: You took your time trying to find out what life, what life, what life has in store for you… You’ve guessed it: my wedding video music.

Como Me Duele Perderte / How it Hurts to Lose You (Gloria Estefan)

I came across this when I started Salsa dancing as part of research for my first novel, Men Dancing. Its bitter-sweet sadness matches both the novel and what was happening in my life at the time, but the song also reminds me of those early exciting but scary days of being a writer.

Dos Puñales / Two Daggers (Josemi Carmona, Paco de Lucía)

I’ve done well to limit the flamenco here to 20%, when it’s probably taking up 80% of my iPod. This is a wondrous example of flamenco fusion; it’s earthy but accessible, and beautifully produced. I love the way the music seems to have a narrative – whatever you want. A tweet asking where I could get hold of the album (Las Pequeñas Cosas), followed by a later one asking about this track, eventually led to a  friendship with the artist. This chance connection was one of the inspirations for  The Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter.

 

  1. Highlight 5 things (apart from family and friends) you’d find it hard to live without.

My Piano

I don’t play as much as I like or should, but when I need it (because I’m bored / fed up / nervous / happy / miserable, waiting for something), I have to have it, now. One of the reasons I enjoy teaching piano is that I want my darlings (adults and children) to have this wonderful support and delight in their lives.

The Sea

I’m generally uncomfortable in locations that aren’t near the sea; there’s a sort of a background feeling of if I’m not near the edge, where the hell am I. Exceptions like Madrid and… (can’t actually think of any others right now) have to have a lot going for them. My current distances from the sea (by foot, door to wet toe) are 10 (Eastbourne) and 3.5 (Almería) minutes.

Why do I love it? The salty smell, its ever-changing colours and moods, and (most) of the beautiful creatures in it. I’m susceptible to flour-soft sand, but I also love beaches where I can collect stones and shells. I’m a keen (if three-limbed – see later!) swimmer, and during Summer and Autumn I’ll check the flag, put on my beach shoes and be in whenever I can (in both countries). It’s also the best place (along with the bath) for getting writing and plot ideas.

Home in Spain

I’ve only had this little town house in San José (near Almería) for a couple of years, but now don’t know how I coped without it. My half-Spanish mother brought me up to be a hispanophile, so for as long as I can remember I’ve been drawn to the country and its people. I also get very miserable and lethargic when starved of bright natural light and warmth, so escaping there lets me recharge my batteries. Although my Spanish is at a high level, I can still zone out of conversations around me – perfect for writing under a beach umbrella.

Thai Food

I’m not a foodie, but I’m insanely excited about these fragrant and spicy flavours and the flowery presentation. Spain needs to discover it; its absence there is one of the few reasons I ever want to come back to Blighty.

My mobile

It would probably do me good to live without my mobile for a while, I’m on it far too much, but the pain of being separated from my WhatsApping friends (including Spanish ones I can’t see as much as I’d like), Twittermates and Instagram would be considerable.

 

  1. Can you offer 5 pieces of advice you’d give to your younger self?

Put more face, hand and sun cream on

I thought I’d be young forever. But if I’m still not listening now, I certainly wouldn’t have listened then. Sticky, messy stuff.

Label and date your photos

Uh, those boxes of loose photos with vaguely recalled faces and scenery…

Don’t lose contact with people you care about

Petty arguments or laziness caused me to lose contact with some friends.

Lighten up!

I was such an intense young person, playing melancholy piano and sitting around reading Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus. Can’t think how anyone put up with me. A year abroad (with light and warmth!) would have done me good.

Yes, you can write a book!

I should have taken the course, bought one of those elasticated leather notebooks, stopped making excuses, and started writing much earlier.

 

  1. Tell us 5 things that most people don’t know about you.

I used to be a keyboard player in a band

For some years, I was a piano teacher doing the day and played in a band a few nights a week. The second band I joined even had a single out; I’ll be in trouble for not including it in my five soundtracks, but you’d be glad I didn’t!

I used to be a post-doctoral scientist

I re-trained, and worked for Moorfields Eye Hospital for many years as an optometrist and post-doctoral researcher.

I used to be a ballerina

…at the Royal Ballet. No, just kidding! But I did teach piano at the Royal Ballet Junior School for some years – and got free tickets. Maybe in my next life.

I have limited use of my right arm

I have a congenital problem with my shoulder that makes it painful for me to open a door or lift anything as heavy as a hardback book with it. An operation didn’t help. But I can somehow do reasonable flamenco arms, and swim without going around in circles!

I almost died of pneumonia over the millennium

The last eighteen years – including the publication of my three novels – have been a bonus.

 

  1. What are the first 5 things you’d have on your bucket list?

Having my book out in Spanish

The Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter has equal male and female, English and Spanish viewpoints – Bicultural People Fiction! I’d love to see it in Spanish, and give it to some of my Spanish friends whose English isn’t good enough to read it in its present form.

Tour South America

I’d like to visit the places where my half-Spanish mother grew up, and more. My cousin and I have talked about it, but… This is what I should have been doing in my maudlin early twenties!

Learn how to high dive

Researching high diving for my next novel, this has become my new ballet. Ah, and I’d like Greg Louganis to teach me (check out the documentary film Back on Board and you’ll see why – what a lovely man).

Learn how to cook Thai food

Family over shoulder: ‘What? Learn how to cook anyfood!’

Have a grandchild

But not too soon, boys!

The Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughteris available – currently only in English 😦 – from good bookshops, or online at Foyles, Books etc, Waterstones or this place:  https://www.amazon.co.uk/Lighthouse-Keepers-Daughter-Cherry-Radford/dp/1911583646/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1529011473&sr=8-1&keywords=cherry+radford

COUNTDOWN TO THE BOOK LAUNCH

IMG_9203.jpg

The book launch is certainly a rich source of over-angst for the pre-pub worrywort. With only a month to go, I’m asking myself:

Why do so many people want to come? 

Lovely of them of course, but it’s beginning to feel like a p-p-p-party. Listen, I’ve spent years at my desk – no, in bed – writing and redrafting this novel; I barely remember how to answer a phone, let alone mingle. Go easy on me.

What sort of an author goes into shock on being asked ‘so what’s your book about?’

Well of course I know what it’s about; it’s like asking a tree about the flavour of its sap. The trouble is, like a tree, I appear to be unable to form the words to describe it. I used to have occasional clarity on this, but being constantly tested by well-meaning friends has reduced me to a manic ‘dunnofuckoff.’ [Cuts out and Sellotapes blurb for fastening to forehead].

Pen poised to sign a book for a friend I’ve known for ten years, will I forget their name?

Probably. If I suddenly dash to the loo with phone (to look through hundreds of emails), it’s you – and I’m really sorry. I’m currently involved in two parallel worlds (that of The Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter and my 3-generational WIP); I’m all named out. What’s in a name? You know I love you.

Should I waste any more time Googling lighthouse-themed blouses and jewellery? Or consider any jewellery at all, other than a string of beads given to me Christmas c.1995? Crucially, is there time, finally… to learn how to blow-dry my hair?

Probably not.

But ah, I may have the perfect solution to my social ineptitude, lack of conceptual focus, memory and style: LIGHTHOUSE CUPCAKES.

~~~~~

The Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter launches 5th April, 2018 – despite the above – and is available here:

http://www.foyles.co.uk/witem/fiction-poetry/the-lighthouse-keepers-daughter,cherry-radford-9781911583646

or here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/aw/d/1911583646/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1520067668&sr=8-1&pi=AC_SX236_SY340_QL65&keywords=cherry+radford&dpPl=1&dpID=51yBWY3XBwL&ref=plSrch

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MY POTHOLED PATH TO PUBLICATION

IMG_0172Looking at my smug mug on Urbane Publications’ shiny new website, I’m sparing a thought for unpublished writers out there who’d like to stick pins in me. A pitchfork, even. I’ve been lucky, I know. I’m sorry. But it might help you to know that my path to publication has been long, muddy and potholed.

 

The first blow was almost my last: my story was rejected by a pony magazine. Okay, I was ten, but the page of reasons for my rejection — no doubt intended to be helpful – made me turn to the recorder and then piano, flute…

 

I didn’t write again for about thirty years – by then on my second career, as a post-doc research optometrist at Moorfields Eye Hospital. I still secretly wanted to write a novel, so I took an Open College of the Arts course and started keeping a diary, but couldn’t come up with an idea.

 

Years later, I finally got an inspiration, and after two months of mulling, made a start (in the middle of an international conference). Unbelievably, the novel wrote itself in six months. I was an author after all! Euphoria!

 

Hm. Until I sent Men Dancing off to a literary consultant and was told yes, well done, but now start again with a different novel. Apparently, my female protagonist was too old (at 42, ffs) and unlikeable. An RNA report agreed. After a few sulky days I started re-writing, making her thirty-bloody-nine and a bit nicer. 

 

Then it was time to hit The Writers’ Yearbook, submitting to the three agents that seemed best suited to my novel. A further ten. The whole effing book. Subs were nearly all postal in those days; my desk became a one-woman sorting office – and soon had a heaped tray of ‘not quite right for us’ letters. Then two agents asked for the full MS and considered it for four months (one sending agonising updates about ‘just having a second/third read’ etc.), but both decided to clear their desks for the holidays and sent painfully synchronised rejection letters a couple of days before Christmas. 

 

It was time to hit the Yearbook pages of lovely little publishers accepting non-agented subs. But they too are swamped with hopefuls, and turned me down. Except a self-pub outfit that also had a ‘conventional’ publishing arm – that they were offering me. I grabbed it with both hands.

 

The company was friendly, the editing light but good. I wasn’t going to be a bestseller – or even a seller at all, other than on Amazon and in the local Waterstones – but at least I was being published. Well, sort of. I had to pay them a fee for having my novel at the London Book Fair. Then for including it in their brochure… Soon, all my royalties were used to pay for this and that – particularly when second novel Flamenco Baby came out. Then the royalties became delayed. No, they stopped. I was so busy researching for a new novel  and doing promo for Flamenco Baby in Spain, that I only once queried it. Then they went very quiet… and bust. I never saw any sales figures or royalties for Flamenco Baby. Another self-publishing company valiantly scooped up most of the floundering authors – and then went bust themselves.

 

But hey, I’d finished another novel, so what did I care? I went bounding off to the Winchester Writers’ Festival with The Lighthouse Keeper’s Daughter and had a glowing response from a commissioning editor who wanted to see it once I was agented, plus two requests for a full MS from agents! Wow! Ah but listen, people: beware the One-to-One bubble (see my post One-to-Ones, I’ve had a few…). One turned it down in 3 days, and the other… well, more than two years on, I’m still waiting to hear. 

 

So, it was back to those lovely indie publishers. One — over the course of a whole year – was interested, turned it down, invited re-sub after changes, then turned it down again. I splashed out on a literary consultancy report, revised, splashed out on another (Cornerstones & The Literary Consultancy – both recommended). It was a lot better, but still not quite fitting into a genre. Two years had now passed since I’d finished it, and — worst of all – I wasn’t coming up with any ideas for a new novel. I started to seriously question why I was pouring so much time, heart and money into it all this. 

 

Then a Twitter friend told me to submit to his publisher, Urbane Publications. Thinking they only published Crime, I’d not bothered them with my not-quite-women’s fiction – but I’d been wrong about that. I ordered some of their books and found wonderfully unusual, genre-bending stories; heard about the inclusive way they work with authors… this was where I wanted to be! I re-drafted and submitted. The wait was the most agonising I’d had during the nine years since I started writing. But it was a YES. Oh, the screams. 

 

I’m realistic, there are a lot of books out there and bigger publishers to compete with, but now I’m part of the Urbane family I can get on with what I want to do: read, write (new novel finally on the go), get books out there and support others whose work I admire.

 

My advice: Keep tramping that path, and one day you’ll find the right place to have your smug mug.

 

THE LIGHTHOUSE KEEPERS DAUGHTER (Urbane Publications) will be published on 5th April, 2018.

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Lighthouse-Keepers-Daughter-Cherry-Radford/dp/1911583646/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&qid=1516540213&sr=8-6&keywords=the+lighthouse+keeper%27s+daughter

 

TAX TIP FOR THE PRE-PUBLICATION AUTHOR

IMG_8740New living area, new publishing deal: time to find a new accountant. How do I do that? Maybe the way I picked the solicitors: Googling those in walking distance and selecting on architectural / pink-painted appeal.

But the names of the accountancy firms springing up on the map suggest further filtering is needed. I’m looking at companies called TaxAssist (too on the nose), Advanta (did two letters fall off their signboard?), Breeze (it won’t be, for an arithmophobic author), and Savoir Faire (oh bog off). Decided to be a normal person for a moment and call them about fees. I got a lot of piece-of-string answers, including one from an accountant who charges by the hour but had a very unfortunate stutter.

Eventually I spoke to a gem at a company with a flat fee, Victorian stucco, and generous free advice on the phone.

Talking to an accountant about the publication of my novel in April 2018, my pre-publication presumptuousness reached a whole new level. But here’s my tax tip for the signed author waiting to be published: did you know that expenses for your pre-published writing can be set against non-writing earnings for the same year? Maybe I’m the last to know. But yup, the cost of notebooks, a book about childhood in the 1950s, a ticket for a paddle steamer etc. etc. will be reducing tax for my science research and piano teaching work. Crazy but cracking news. Talk to an accountant!

ONE-TO-ONES, I’VE HAD A FEW…

Clip Art Graphic of a Lime Green Guy Character

One-to-ones, I’ve had a few, but then again… who can resist the chances to “pitch your work to industry gate keepers!” in a writing festival package? Although you might wish you had resisted, after a weekend of looking at your watch through interesting talks so that you leave them in time (factoring in a nervous pee) for your appointments, and letting other potentially instructive sessions flow past you while you sit there in post-one-to-one bewilderment.

Perhaps I just made bad choices, but I never got much out of literary speed-dating. I have no issue with agents that just didn’t like what I was doing – even the one whose way of imparting this was to spend 10 minutes arguing that a principal ballet dancer wouldn’t travel standard class in a train. I also forgive the two agents (in the same afternoon) that used half of my allocated time to go for a pee. But the one that was so full of praise and excitement that I looked over my shoulder to see if they were speaking to someone else, asked for the full manuscript, and then never replied to any emails…

It’s a tricky pairing: the agent is keen for good festival feedback, doesn’t want any awkwardness, and would like to give constructive feedback – if she can remember enough about your sub (and control her bladder). But the author with a finished novel may not be too receptive to drastic suggestions made after a possibly cursory look at a small sample, and, let’s face it, really just wants to be asked for a full MS.

It’s probably better to have these meetings at an early, more pliable stage of your novel. Or hone your manuscript with a writing group and a good literary consultancy, then do carefully crafted online subs to the RIGHT agents and publishers.

Exactly two years on (and still not having heard from the ecstatic agent), I’m pinch-myself happy to be a signed author with the wonderful Urbane Publications. I can now be one of those smug so-and-so’s who can go to a writing festival without any need to miss anything – my eight years of running the one-to-one gauntlet are over!

 

TWITTERHOLICS ATWONYMOUS: ARE YOU ADDICTED TO TWITTER?

IMG_7274Apparently Twitter is harder to resist than cigarettes and alcohol. As a non-smoking teetotaller, I wouldn’t know, but Jesus Twesus, am I using up my addiction allowance on it.

Six years ago I was dragged onto it by my first publisher, with my book cover’s sassy salsa dancer as a profile but a Twitter name that sounds like furniture polish. I dithered – until I realised that Twitter could feed me flamenco and ballet news, lighthouses, Sorolla paintings and so on. Then something else happened: I started to meet some wonderful tweeps – in fact, friendship with a Twitter amigo inspired my new novel.

Great, but far too often these days I’m off down that bloody Twitter hole having Adtwentures in Twonderland when I should be elsewhere. Am I addicted? Are you? Let’s take a test.

 

1.TWIVIALITY

How often do you tweet complete drivel? Anything to get your atwention fix.

Almost Daily          Score 2

Sometimes             Score 1

Never                      Score 0

Examples from @CherryRad:

‘Sandwich choices on plane: ham and cheese, bacon and cheese L  #Queasyjet’

‘Have decided that people with that iPhone whistling ring tone are complete [anchor emoji] kers’

‘Aaaaa-TCHOOO!’

 

2. INATWENTIVENESS

How often are you on Twitter when loved ones are with you in the room or needing you elsewhere?

Almost Daily            Score 4

Sometimes               Score 2

Never                        Score 0

Example from @CherryRad:

I’ve left a teenager waiting to be picked up at a freezing station while I finished a gripping twonversation – but I did then send him an exquisitely emojied tweet to tell him I was on my way.

 

3. TWIMEWASTING

How often does time on Twitter stop you finishing a chapter, going for a run etc.

Almost Daily            Score 4

Sometimes             Score 2

Never                     Score 0

Example from @CherryRad:

Too often there’s an extra hour in bed while I catch up with Twitter. This morning for example, instead of getting on with a blog post – so I changed topic and decided to shame myself on here.

 

ARE YOU A TWITTERHOLIC?

Score 0-3/10:          No. You have admirable control / dodgy internet access

Score 4-6/10:          Tweetering on the brink of addiction. Careful.

Score 7-10/10:        Twitterholic. Have a tword with yourself.

Where are you? I’m at 6. Phew.

Ah. But I just did a Google search and found a long list of signs of Twitterholicism – including: You still think adding “Tw” to words is clever. #Twuck.

WHEN CAN I READ YOUR NOVELS, MUM?

IMG_7162My sons have recently asked when they can read my novels. For years I’d say ‘when you’re older’ and re-check that copies were out of reach – but the boys are now eighteen and twenty-three. We’ve moved, and the novels are on the bookshelf these days. OK, they might not think of looking there, but they could have downloaded one for less than a bus ticket. Why do they need my permission? They seldom want it for anything else.

I don’t expect them to read my women’s fiction; I’ve got girlfriends who haven’t, it’s alright. I’m just intrigued by their hesitation. Possible reasons for it:

  1. It’s ew to read Mum writing about romantic stuff (likely)
  2. I’ve told them that they’ll see traces of themselves in the young characters (but hopefully be amused/chuffed)
  3. They resent the time I spent writing the damn things

I can’t rule out the last one.  How do you combine the selflessness of motherhood with the selfish drive to get down that story in your head? The need to be positive for them, with the need to be in touch with your insecurities for the sake of your writing? It hasn’t been easy. Nor for many fathers either, I imagine.

It’s Mother’s Day, and I never feel I really deserve it. But the boys seem to have turned out OK – and usually bring authorial-quality chocolate.

HOW TO MEET THE IDEA FOR YOUR NEXT NOVEL

NOVEL IDEA

I’m off to see a ballet superstar perform – with the anxiety of an ex-alcoholic before a hen night. You see, I used to have an obsession with ballet. OK, ballet men. Straight, gay, macho hispanic, sensitive blonde, hyper bendy redhead, shorty with enormous jumps – all of them really. That ravishing fusion of athleticism and art, of virility and gentleness… Covent Garden was a pricey place to be fixated – but it was ultimately worth it: I got the idea for my first novel (MEN DANCING) there, and had great fun writing (and researching) it.

Eight years and three books on, I’m anxiously waiting to meet an idea for my next one. It’ll happen. I know it. Don’t I? Uff. WHEN?! The search is beginning to feel like my forcedly cheerful years without a boyfriend – in which pals arranged a series of dire blind dates (e.g. to a guy with the surname Tree, I ask you) and told me to get out more. I’m currently on a series of dates with background reading books, and getting out to lots of windy locations. Getting closer and enjoying myself, but heaven help me, I recently found myself singing along to Michael Buble’s I Just Haven’t Met You Yet

In the past I’ve been fired up by a Spanish musical genre, empathy for a childless friend, a city, a group of Twittermates, even an Edwardian navigational aid… Jeez, I’d happily fall in love with a post box, if it could inspire me to stop sitting around sharing Facebook videos of piano-playing cats and start opening my writing notebook. 

But I’ve got a date with my old flame BalletMan, and who knows, sitting on the train, just when I’m not looking for it, an idea might tap me on the shoulder. I’ll keep you posted.

 

 

 

 

LINKEDIN: ONE HOOK UP TOO MANY?

linkedinTapping on my mobile half asleep one night, I must have hooked up with LinkedIn. The next day, I couldn’t believe I’d given in to this smug monster, and quickly reached for a Morning After Unsubscribe. But the trouble is that you have to log on to bog off, SlinkIn to SlinkOut, kiss before leaving – and I couldn’t remember my bloody password.

So years passed, with daily Linkvitations in my Inbox reminding me not to wander onto the internet while under the influence of Ovaltine. I fervently hoped it would all somehow go away.

But something’s happened: I’ve now got a Proper Publishing Deal, and need to be on everything. Including LinkedIn, which, Google promises me, will increase my Search Engine Rankings. Since I don’t know my current ones – or what the hell these actually are – this will be difficult to prove.  It’s also supposed to increase my connections – but I can do that on Twitter, with more fun and less waffle. To be honest, at the moment I’m only really after a few more readers for my new blog – and the hopefully swift and simple pacification of scores of unanswered Linked friends.

So after a few hours LockedIn, what can I tell you? Well, it’s blue, which is nice. Easier to navigate than Goodreads – but then so is the Strait of Magellan. And… well, nothing really, all the same faces, and the people who I wish were on Twitter aren’t in here either. Hackles started to rise with the profile page, which, despite the encouragements (‘Cherry, your Summary is looking good!’) insists on boxing your life into its own peculiar linxpectations.  For example, apparently I don’t live in Eastbourne but in ‘Holywell, E. Sussex’ – which is great, but basically just a section of the beach. As for my living in two countries – even though surely this is relevant professionally – no way was this allowed. But the true horror is the ENDORSING. Visiting pages of people I know and hoping to encourage, I’m soon going: ‘WTF? When was she ever a Fiction Writer? He’s a Director there? My arse…’ Then I see that somebody has endorsed me for Short Stories – something she can’t possibly vouch for unless she’s had secret and ill-advised access to my ‘Cherry – Junior Sch.’ box file. Or maybe this is actually her suggestion, after trying one of my novels. Who knows what people are trying to say on here? Or what they do when they’re off it. There are some great posts (presumably also available elsewhere), but it mostly feels a bit pushy and shouty. I know, I know, I’ll give it a little longer – and please, tell me I’m wrong – but at the moment it feels like one hook up too many.