The longer you leave it, the harder it gets...

This could apply to so many things...

But I'm talking about writing; for the blog, and in general.

I've been having what I have come to recognise as my usual winter hibernation. I think I can safely say that winter is not a good time for me. I don't know if it is the dark short days, or the cold, or what, but I have been fighting off the winter blues since Christmas, and before. In fact, once the clocks change in October, that's me done for, really. Until the days start to lengthen out and the snowdrops and crocuses appear, I just want to get into bed and sleep. And I do. But I can't get up again. I bought myself one of those alarm clocks that gradually wakes you up by simulating dawn with a light that gets slowly brighter. And this has worked to a certain extent. I have certainly been feeling a lot less groggy when I wake up.

But the motivation and desire to write just seems to leave me in the winter, and I think dark thoughts, and stew in my own depressive and pessimistic juices. However, for the first time I am remembering that it doesn't last forever, as nothing does. I can feel it starting to lift. Hence, here I am. Scribbling again. So, I'd like to welcome myself back. Hi there stranger.

Even better than that...!

Ok, so I send Husband to Lidl to get some wine. We have friends staying, and I should know better than to send two men unaccompanied to a shop, but I was a bit harrassed and I thought there would be safety in numbers. So off they go, clean handkerchiefs and shiny faces...

An hour later they're back with three boxes of wine. Sensible choices, so far so good.

Then they vanish. They're not in the garage or the garden, and not downstairs in the house. And they're very quiet. I smell a rat. I go in search. I find them in Husband's office huddled over an object.
'What's going on here then?' I enquire.
They leap apart as though caught with a bomb. No-one speaks.
'So, you got the wine, then?' I start conversationally, trying to draw them out...
Husband's eyes light up with a maniacal glow.
'Even better than that!' he says, 'We got a microscope! And it's got a camera for the computer!'

A microscope. I ask you. Never mind that we're a no-income family at the moment, until said Consultant Husband actually does some Consultancy.

Don't let them out alone with a cashcard. You're asking for trouble...

I am now a mother....

I now feel well and truly initiated into the world of parenthood.

I Knelt On Some Lego.

God, it hurt.

I can forsee years of stumbling through lakes and oceans of Lego.

And, as my eyesight diminishes with each passing year, so the sodding pieces of Lego get smaller and smaller....

What kind of cruelty is that...?

Reading habits...

I am a reader. I would love to be an avid reader, and used to be one when I had the luxury of time, but unfortunately there just aren't enough hours in the day. I am also a terrible buyer of books. I have a whole shelf of lovely new books waiting to be read, but if I see another one in a shop or online that I think I might like, I just have to have it. I'm definitely addicted to buying books in the same way that some people are addicted to buying face creams or designer jeans. Like them, I believe that this will change my life. Although I reckon I have a better chance of a book changing my life, than a cosmetic product... So I'm quite defiant about my addiction really....

You may ask, why doesn't she use the library? Well, I do that as well, although slashed library boook budgets are making the selection less and less appealing...

But there is something about owning the book, being the first one to open the pristine pages, smelling that new book smell, feeling the paper.... This brings to mind the fact that I am also a bit obsessed with notebooks, and actually pretty dislike having to write in a new one. So maybe I'm just fixated on paper - perhaps I should become a book binder...

Now, what do I read? This post was actually conceived of when I was reading an interview with the children's writer Eoin Colfer on the splendid Bookwitch blog (http://www.bookwitch.wordpress.com/)

He said that when he was in his twenties he went through a phase where he read nothing but serial killer books, but now he is older he has become squeamish and doesn't like it when people get hurt.

This is SO me! I used to read Patricia Cornwell and all sorts of murder stuff. Now, since I had my own children, I can't stomach anything like that at all. I can't even watch Prime Suspect or anything that remotely has anything bad happening to children... And I really cannot understand why anyone would want to read a misery memoir. That's just voyeuristically wierd, in my view.

I have definitely gone soft, and it doesn't bother me on a personal level, as I have adjusted my reading habits to cope. But I do worry about my writing a little, as I wonder if all my characters are just destined to be 'nice', and the main action may just involve them all having a nice cup of tea and a sit down. God forbid if I ever have to kill anyone off - they may have to live to 96 and drift away in a nice soft bed surrounded by their nearst and dearest...

Ah well, soft I may be, but children and puppies and kittens are safe with me...

Out with the old and in with the new

It's the day before New Years Eve. We've just returned home from what feels like our million mile round trip visiting relatives.

And there's just time to take a breath before the festivities begin again tomorrow!

It has all beeen good, if busy. I had imagined that there would be time for me to creep away into a corner with a notebook and pen or a novel for an hour or two, but no. But the kids loved it, and excitement reached epic proportions on Christmas Day. And that was just mine :-)

The only downside was that Dear Daughter has flared up in what can only be described as eczema, although she has never had it before. So she had a trip to my parents-in-law's GP in Sheffield this morning and now has an antibiotic and hydrocortisone cream to try to clam her skin down. Very wierd. I can only conclude it's a combination of late nights, rich food, new clothes next to the skin and a change of washing powder. Who knows?

By the way, I got that assignment back; the one I wrote in a high fever a few weeks ago. I got a very respectable II.i - nearly a First!
I shall have to try to induce fever before every deadline in future...

Wishing everyone a Very Merry New Year.

Twas the night before Christmas....

And all through the house, I panicked and worried, and here shall I grouse:-

My head is about to explode, but I've nearly finished the Christmas preparations. It all went relatively smoothly, I suppose, apart from a misunderstanding over who was getting the turkey which would have led to a vegetarian Christmas dinner, had I not called my Mother in time...

I now just have the kids' presents to wrap, the Christmas cake to ice, and the house to tidy...

Hmmm.

Think I might just break out the Pimms Winter Cup and leave the wrapping till later...

A very merry Christmas to one and all, and warmest winter wishes for the festive season.

Oh yes...

..and while I had the flu, I had an assessment due in on the OU creative writing course. I did it and submitted it, while sweating out a high fever. Hmm, not sure what strange hallucinatory thoughts may have found their way in there... Who knows, it may be my best work!