Baby Names and NaNo News

A big warm welcome to little Kai Rooney. It's always good to hear news of a new life arrived safely and I wish the family well.

However, I have to admit to a sinking heart when I heard what Wayne and Coleen have called their baby. It's not that I don't think they've chosen a lovely name, it's just that's the name I carefully researched and decided on for the hero of my competition chapter.

Kai is from the Welsh for 'keeper of keys' - and my hero was locked up tight. Plus, Kai was going to take his lady love to the wilds of Wales to meet his parents. The Welsh connection is no more - on very good advice from Lorraine, I relocated to Fiji. However, I kept the name because by that time I felt it suited him.

But now - oh horror - everyone will think I've copied the Rooneys.

Too late to do anything about it though, so I'm not going to worry.

And as for NaNo? Oh, no. I'm going to start tomorrow. And now there'll be some of you thinking I'm nothing but talk.

Sent in hope...

Well, it's done. My competition entry that is. Sent not five minutes ago and I've already received the e-mail confirmation from Harlequin Mills and Boon to let me know they've got it.

And I feel sick.

I wonder why I put myself through this when it's so stressful and the chances of publication are so remote.

Today was spent fiddling with my chapter and synopsis when I should have been dealing with work that clients will actually pay me for. And I fiddled with a vengeance, my work becoming increasingly confused as I went.

In the end, I compiled my e-mail entry and sent the thing off more because I was sick of looking at it rather than because I thought it was ready. The very opposite, in fact. It was so far from being ready it wasn't true. My story arc's so flat that the entire thing's (dare I whisper this?) pretty boring. But I'd written it, so I sent it.

There's no more I can do, so I'm going to stop worrying.

Tons of luck to everyone else who's entered.

And what of NaNo? Well, there's always tomorrow. I'll make a start then.

What I wish I'd done last week...

1. Finished four sets of work for clients.

2. Polished and submitted two short stories that have been sitting on my computer for the best part of three months.

3. Re-written and submitted my competition chapter and synopsis.

4. Planned my NaNo novel (or at least made a decision about what to write).

With only hours to go before the big start, I haven't cleared any of my 'to do' list. I'd hoped to start NaNo with a clear deck. Alas, not to be. It looks like November's going to be a busy month.

Good luck to all you others out there NaNoWrMo-ing.

WelshWitch Signs Up For NaNo

Well, I've been and gone and done it - signed up for NaNoWriMo. I'm so excited and just can't wait to get started.

I'm on the site as WelshWitch - thought it apt, being Welsh and all. And as for the Witch part, well, that's one of the more polite names regularly thrown my way. Finding the right name was so hard, I thought about it for ages only to find that my first three choices had already been taken. So this was a kind of last minute decided in haste kind of name, but I think it suits me.

So, why did I finally decide to sign up when I've been dithering so much? There are several reasons:

1. Despite 2009 being my best writing year ever in terms of sales (yay), I've produced very little new material, so this will be an incentive to get words written.

2. Love the idea of a writing holiday - which this, in effect, will be. A great excuse to concentrate on writing and ignore the dusting, the hoovering and to haunt M&S's food hall. (I do all these things regularly in any case, but at least for November I'll have an excuse not to feel guilty.)

3. Lorraine rightly suggested in a comment on a previous post that taking part would give me something to submit for the RNA's New Writer's Scheme next year. I'm still waiting to hear about this year's submission, but whatever my report says I can't bring myself to send the same MS in again next year (I've re-written the same story for the past four years already).

4. Several blogging friends have already signed up to take part and it's great to feel like part of the crowd. And a few who aren't taking part this year have done so in the past and report it to be a very worthwhile and fun experience.

5. November is a fairly quiet month for me. Obviously, there's stuff like shopping for the festive season, the day job and ferrying the 13-year-old around, but most of my high pressure deadline stuff doesn't fall in this month, so I'll be able to concentrate on the task in hand.

6. And, finally, I couldn't think of a single good reason not to do it.

Let me know if you're also participating and I'll look out for you. And please wish me luck, I've a feeling I'm going to need it.

HAPPY 13TH BIRTHDAY BABY GIRL

One minute I'm kissing tiny baby toes...


...the next I'm the mum of a teenager.
Where's the time gone?

It's scary.

Are you NaNoWriMo-ing this year?

All over Blogland, people are signing up for NaNoWriMo and I'm left with the question: Should I, or shouldn't I? I am very tempted, not least for the following three reasons:

1. The thought of being one of so many writers typing like fury to hit 50,000 words in 30 days has a romantic writerly feel to it.

2. Participating would certainly up my woeful word count for the year.

3. November's a good month for me to find extra time.

But I know I'm a lazy soul - and don't want to set myself up for failure. So I think I'll take the cowardly custard's way and do a low key version. I'll quietly aim for 50,000 words in my own sweet way - just to see if I can.

What about you? Tempted to sign up?

The strange phenomenon of the hairstyle that knew too much...

My hair is horrible. I've blogged before about its awfulness. But on rainy days it's a dream (I'm speaking relatively here). It sweeps upwards with bounce and body, not a strand out of place. Some would say it's because of the humidity, but I know the truth - my hair's psychic and knows what the weather's like even before I venture out.

Sadly, these interludes of wonderful hair are short lived. Inevitably, as soon as I leave the house, my 'do' is either soaked in a deluge (giving me a rather attractive drowned rat look) or it's flattened by my hood (way too windy up here for a brolly). And the world will never know that, for a brief instant, my hair was great.

I've often wondered how I could make money out of this phenomenon. There must be a demand for such talented tresses. Perhaps my hair could get a job in the met office. Or perhaps I could set up a phone line to let locals know what's it's like outside. Of course, the locals may well find it easier and cheaper to open the curtains and have a look for themselves. But where's the fun in that?

The Thorny Issue of Spicy Scenes

My 12(very nearly 13)-year-old has asked to read my manuscript. What should I do? I don't believe in censorship - she's free to read any and all of the multitude of books that line our walls (having said that, there's nothing too hair-raising in my collection). So, if she reads my work, it will be the full, unexpurgated version. But it is a romance and, in the tradition of that genre, there are one or two love scenes. Despite there being much more spicy stuff on tv pre-watershed, I don't think it's appropriate for her to read such scenes conjured from my imagination.

Of course, she did ask when I was in the middle of nagging her about homework - so I suspect it might have been a plan to divert my attention. Especially as she's never shown much interest in the handful of short stories I've had published.

But what should I do if she persists?

How does everyone else deal with the thorny issue of friends and family reading potentially embarrassing scenes? I've already decided that if (or rather, when - let's think positive) my book's published it will have to be under a pseudonym, but how do I keep that pseudonym a secret?

Or should I maybe think about jumping ship and start writing books I won't mind my mother or my daughter reading.

Torn between two loves

I feel like I've been caught cheating on my old manuscript. It's been pushed aside to allow a younger, fresher, more exciting love to take its place. I've started another story and am wallowing in the thrill of a new begining... A heroine to get to know, a hero to fall in love with...

I know I've written the living daylights out of the old story. It's been changed and fiddled with to such an extent that I no longer recognise it as the tale I first started. But I do still love it, even if I'm not in love with it any longer - and I'm not ready to divorce it yet. It was a part of my life for such a long time that I don't want to let it go.

But, I want to be published. More than that, I want to earn a living from writing. It's all I've ever wanted to do. And I know if I'm to have any hope at all of making this a reality, I have to move on...

Anyhow, think I'm rambling now, so best get back to that new story...

Falling Apart

It must be old age - I never used to have this much wrong with me...

Latest in a long line of ills is a rupture to the lining of my nasal cavity - at least I assume that's what happened: Whenever I try to blow my nose the breath is expelled through my tear duct, so all I succeed in doing is blowing at my own eyeball.

That can't be right. Can it?

Award

Thank you so much to lovely Mandy who's passed on this award.

The award stands for:
Integrity.
Commitment to Excellence.
Stubbornly Optimistic.

As a condition of accepting, I now have to list five obsessions:

1. The 12-nearly-13-year-old. Like every parent, I want the best for my child.

2. Germs. I live in fear of germs. The biggest mistake in my life was studying microbiology when I left school (who said that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing?). The smell of Dettol antibacterial cleaner always reminds me of holidays, as I take tons of the stuff to clean the rooms and bathrooms in case the hotel staff have used the same cloth to clean the toilet and everything else (this isn't unfounded, a recent survey found unmentionable germs in inexplicable places in hotel rooms). And I also preach at the alter of hand-washing - such a simple procedure that can prevent so much contamination (okay, so the excessive hand-washing has resulted in eczema that's now spread up my arms, but at least I'm not passing on bacteria).

3. Books. We don't have much in the way of material possessions, but we do have precarious towers of books piled high in every corner. I've blogged before about a man in Aberystwyth who was found dead and buried beneath piles of his own rubbish. I know this is the way I'm going to go - but in my case it won't be rubbish, it'll be books. And I don't even care.

4. Chocolate. I'm a fondant girl if anyone's thinking of sending me a large box.

5. Blogging. I've been online less recently as real life's intruded. But the support of lovely blogging friends is invaluable. Blogland is such a lovely place to be.

And now I've to pass this on...but who to? I can't choose - all the blogs I read are great, so I'd like to pass this on to all of you.

Show me the way to Hazzard County

Another domestic horror story - and further proof I was never destined for a life of household chores...

John (friend not Barrowman) had a bit of a disaster with his trousers. It was all to do with a Magic Marker that he'd left in his pocket. Of course, he blamed the pen...the poor inanimate little pen that hadn't done anything to anyone in the whole wide world apart from try to help with labeling needs. And, of course, the pen couldn't answer back - couldn't tell John that it hadn't been designed to be left in pockets and if people can't be trusted to replace its cap properly then there will,inevitably,be mishaps.

Anyhow, keen to help (John drives me places when I can't be bothered to drive myself and looks after my computer when I've 'done something' to it - so he deserves a favour) I offered to dye said trousers black to hide the ink stain. Dyeing these days doesn't involve the same palaver it did when my mum used to tie-dye her cheesecloth kaftans in the twin tub - all you need now is one sachet of powder emptied into the wash, a couple of 40 degree cycles and lo, a miracle of textile rejuvenation will appear before your very eyes.

At least, that was the promise on the sachet.

I decided to add into the mix my pair of sand coloured jeans (yes, they're as sad as they sound) that I'd splashed bleach on while cleaning the bathroom and a horrible white top that made me look fat (fatter).

So, two pairs of unwearable trousers and a top + sachet of black dye = money saved on buying new clothes.

You'd think.

When, breathless with anticipation, I emptied the washing machine, there was bad and good and then even more bad news:
Bad: I was disgusted to find that John's trousers - despite positively soaking up the Magic Marker ink, had refused to take any of the dye.
Good: My own top and jeans were now a smart black.
Bad: Unfortunately, the very visible stitching on both garments was still stubbornly the original colour - so I'll be wandering the streets dressed as a tragic extra from The Dukes Of Hazzard (the 70s version).

Or perhaps I should use the experience as a good excuse to go shopping for some new clothes?