Raising Stories and Editing Children

Today I waved my baby off to independence.

I've fed it, tended to it and watched it gain weight with relief. I've fiddled and fussed, re-dressed and polished, stood back and, sometimes, admired. I've pulled out foreign bodies with a fine tooth comb. I've had sleepless nights and early mornings, eschewed friends when it was ailing or in need of attention. I've enjoyed gold-dust criticism and selfless help (thank you dutiful readers, truly, thank you) and even accepted the odd prize on its behalf. I've had days when I've wondered what it's all about, this unending, thankless task, and asked whether I was cut out for the job. I've wittered about whether I've done enough to prepare it, if I've sought enough advice, read enough books, been on enough courses. I've dressed it up, packed it off, hailed it back, waved it off again and stayed up fretting—

But I've always enjoyed the ride.

This is the last time I will see my story like this. This is the last pdf version, the closest representation of it in book form, the last chance to raise an eyebrow, question its appearance, because the next time I see my baby, it will be a fully grown book.

And so, in every parent's life there comes a point when we have to let our books go; give them wings and let them fly. It's gone, it's flown and I can do no more. On the 9^th June Glass Houses will make its official public appearance and now that my baby is finally out of my grasp I can't help feeling just a little bit ridiculously excited.

Glass Houses will be published on June 9^th and is available to pre-order from Amazon and Urbane Publications.

Wonderful readers, join me for the official launch of Glass Houses at the beginning of July? Further details coming very soon.

Please Let Me Wash Up

I'm not the biggest fan of domesticity. You wouldn’t need to dip far into my blog to know that. At best the washing, the emptying and re-filling of the ironing basket, the tidying - AKA the 'pile' of yesterday's activity moved to the bottom step to create a hazard to be walked around - the cleaning, the cooker cleaning (only the top, obviously) the food shopping (granted, only ten minutes on the internet these days but oh! the putting away),  the bill paying, the cooking (scrap that one, I find cooking quite therapeutic), the weekly bedding changing (just kidding - annual) are all tasks to be got behind me so that I can get down to the day job. 

And after that's ticked off, well, then I get to write.

At worst, domesticity makes me grumpy. 

I'm not ridiculously house-proud. Sure, I like a general air of tidiness and probably more accurately, a sense of order. I despise having to wade through disorder to search for something when if-it-had-been-put-in-its-proper-place, you hear me, don't you? And I strive for a level of cleanliness to prevent disease. But I'm not trying to prove anything. Show-home perfection is not in my make-up. Until that is, I've spent all day polishing my house and domesticity crown. Then, the remnants of the snack on the scrubbed work surface, the post trail right next to the recycling box, the shoe tree re-planted in front of the cupboard in which shoes rightfully belong, then I could happily kick them, and also the offender, into the next village.

I did say domesticity made me grumpy. 

It's the futility really. It's the digging a hole and filling it in again each and every week. It's the time sap with nothing lasting to show for it. It's the monotony, I suppose. 

Really, wouldn't we all prefer to be doing something else?

No.

No? Checks mirror. Yes, it was me: I wrote that. Let me explain. I have just had an operation on my stomach. I've lost an organ or two, nothing vital, except their absence means that for six long weeks I'm not allowed to lift, reach, open, close, teach, run, jump, shop, carry, push a trolley, iron, fill a kettle, cycle, pour a kettle, lift a pan, move furniture (three months for that one, apparently) and so the list goes on.

It's not so bad, I thought, as I stared wide-eyed at the nurse reciting the list. I shall read.

Let's start with this little lot.

And I could reach the bottom of the to-do list, write some long overdue short stories, prepare well for the launch of Glass Houses, organise my sister's big birthday which ends in a zero, test my daughters on their revision, book their appointments before the third time of asking, start blogging regularly again, catch up on editing and everything else I've abandoned over the last year while I've been book writing and loading the washing machine. 

Phew! Six weeks of all that and you know what, I might actually have a handle on things again.

Ticking off the To-Do list in the sun.

Two weeks in and yes, I am doing all these things. I'm feeling more in control and there's great satisfaction in reaching the end of my, admittedly shortened, to-do list. And yet, guess what's irking me even more than the sun shining but my bike standing forlorn in the kitchen (it's a long, leaking shed story), my depressingly clean trainers in the cupboard (of course), my drawer bursting with pre-operation laundered kit? What irks me more (ok, perhaps not more, but it's significant and better for the story)? 

The washing. The ironing and please God, give me the strength to put the sewing machine back in the cupboard.

You know, I think that when they whisked away some of the insides of my stomach, they took a slice of sense as well. Please remind me of this when I am cursing the many and varied barriers to writing. Please remind me that there is a semblance of satisfaction in being on top of domesticity, that I don't like asking my family to do seemingly simple tasks when they have imminent exams and hectic jobs, that I hate to take my busy friends up on offers to help when I'm the one who has more time. Normality. I think it's normality I crave. 

Feel free to direct me here when I have my normality back.

Multi-texting Driving

My daughter is seventeen. She's learning to drive. She's doing OK and I'm pleased, relieved, that she takes the process seriously. Sitting at the side of her, fingers a breath of air away from the grip of the handbrake, eyes darting, pulse slightly raised, our chat in bullet points at best, has been good for me, too. It's a reminder of just how many things we have to think about when we drive a car. It's easy to forget, isn't it? That's what I tell her when someone who clearly has forgotten, remonstrates from the car behind.

There's the choice of gear, just enough press and depress of pedals, the right-a-bit, left-a-bit, left-hand-down, right-hand-down, the reversing around a corner – six inches from the kerb and don’t forget to check for other cars as you direct the back of the car which seems, oh such a long way away, around an apparent blind corner -  the road signs (circle or triangle, are the colours significant?), the pedestrian crossings, the give way to the right - just not on this exit on this roundabout - the don't-drive-too-fast-now-get-your-speed-up…

It's a wonder anybody manages to drive at all. If I had to have a driving lesson at my age, I'd need a two hour kip to recover afterwards.

Now, I understand and indeed, console my daughter with the knowledge that after a while, it all becomes very 'unconscious' which means that while we're steering, changing gear, checking our mirrors with our unconscious brain, we're hyper-conscious of the potential for that car to pull out in front of us.

That's the theory.

Pic courtesy of  the American Safety Council

But what happens when we introduce something else into the driving mix? What happens when we glance at a text and decide we can quickly answer it? After all, 'yes' is only three letters and we could type that with our eyes closed. And what of social media and that Twitter Notification or a Friend Request that's flashed up on screen? No need to even touch the phone to know that it's – can it be? No way! It's John Smith from school. Phew! His hair's not quite as lush as it used to be! Or how about Snapchat? A photo whilst driving wouldn't harm, would it? Hey, we don't even need to take our eyes off the road to get our reaction across. What happens when we divide our hyper-conscious brain between driving and another task?

More people die.

Those are the preliminary findings of the National Safety Council in America which suggest that 'motor vehicle deaths were 8% higher than in 2015 than in 2014'. This increase is after road fatalities in much of the world had been going down. You can read more about this here. 

Nobody is suggesting that anti-social behaviour at the wheel is entirely the cause of this worrying trend but it is certainly considered to be a factor in it. So, until mobile phone usage is considered by drivers to be as dangerous as drink driving, other methods of prevention are needed.

Enter the Textalyzer.

Pic courtesy of the New York Times

Police in New York are interested in a prototype of a Textalyzer which would work much like a breathalyser at the scene of a road traffic incident by tapping into the driver's phone and confirming whether or not the phone had been used during the journey. Read more in the excellent New York Times article here. 

There's legislation to be passed and privacy laws need to be respected, but I, for one, would embrace its introduction into this country. Why? Because when I was thinking about the main character, Tori, in Glass Houses, when I was researching the reality of coma, talking to emergency staff about what it's really like at the scene of a horrific road accident, and when I was thinking about the consequences of Tori's one stupid decision to text her husband from the motorway, how it affected her life, the life of her loved ones and, of course, the families of those who died at the scene, never was it more clear to me that from behind the wheel, there is no such a thing as a 'harmless text'.

Glass Houses, ISBN-10: 1910692840, Published 9 June 2016. £8.99. Pre-order Urbane Publications, Amazon.

Busy Blogging

Phew, it's been a while. I've been busy over on other people's blogs. I know, terribly disloyal. But while I try and think of something light-hearted to say, or wait for some ridiculous, self-inflicted comical accident to befall - always useful for a blog post - I thought I'd leave you with a blog-interview for A lover of Books. This is the site of fabulously hard-working, Sonya Alford, and is taken from her week of posts about Urbane Publications authors. If you're remotely interested in books, you might like Sonya's reviews - bountiful, honest and insightful.

By the way, if that's quite enough about Tea and Chemo for you, thank you very much, please feel free to scroll down to the last few questions where Glass Houses gets a mention... 

1. Can you tell me a bit about Tea and Chemo please?When I was diagnosed with cancer in December 2013, I wanted to read about normal people who'd had cancer, made it through treatments and were waving from the other side with a smile on their faces saying that it was ok, it wasn't all bad. I struggled to find these stories so I decided that I would use my blog to talk about what a cancer diagnosis is really like from the coalface.

Tea and Chemo is a mix of my original posts on cancer and its treatments, with the addition of many more anecdotes. It's about sharing what I've learnt: advice on what to do when your food tastes as though it's been sprinkled with bicarbonate of soda and stirred with mud, your hair is falling out in handfuls and strangers are asking how come you have hay fever in February.  I hope the information is helpful but that readers will also feel my empathetic hug and have a smile at the light-hearted elements, because cancer treatment is like life; it has its ups and downs.

2. What made you decide to get this book published?
It was a combination of a few things. I felt that a few months further on, I had so much more to add to the original blog posts. People were suggesting the idea of a book, telling me that it would make a great gift for those wanting to do something positive for friends and family diagnosed with cancer and it was the opportunity to raise some money for cancer related charities and organisations. I had that little voice in my head telling me that if I never tried to get it published, I would never know…

3. Your book has already been of help to lots of people. How does that make you feel?
Oh! Where to start? I have been absolutely over-whelmed by the response to Tea and Chemo. The reviews posted on Amazon and other review sites, not to mention the emails (and even an orchid sent with a thank you note) generally bring me to tears – happy tears. It's a very humbling, life-affirming thing to learn that words I've written, could help other people. I originally said that if my book could help one person feel calmer, more optimistic and hopeful about the prospect of, and reality of, cancer treatment, then I'd feel my work was done. To know it has helped many people is job satisfaction of the very greatest kind.

4. Do you think it's a book that anyone suffering from cancer should read?
Tea and Chemo isn’t a definitive guide to cancer and there are other more factual books on cancer out there. But I like to think there's something in there for everyone, both on a practical and emotional basis, not just for those diagnosed with cancer, but also their family and friends.

Indeed, a reviewer wrote that they didn’t have cancer but that there were other strong themes, 'around the basic goodness in our society and the importance, whatever the situation we are in, of choosing to adopt a positive attitude.' He also added that, 'the final page is worth reading every morning,' which made me very happy indeed.

5. When is your next book due out? 
Glass Houses, a novel, is out on June 9^th and is now available to pre-order from Amazon and direct from the Urbane Publications.

6. What is it about?
Glass Houses is about two women who make stupid mistakes and the massive ramifications not just for their lives, but for those close to them. It's about people in 'glass houses' not 'throwing stones'. It's also about smashing up our lives: however hard we try to stick them back together again, they will never look the same as they did before.

And maybe, just maybe, this might not be such a bad thing.

Glass Houses is contemporary fiction (please note that it's incorrectly classed as a 'thriller' on Amazon. It isn't a thriller) so it's a very different read to Tea and Chemo but I hope that there's a similarity in that it tackles dark themes with a light touch.

7. Are you planning to write any more books?
Not just planning…! I have the first draft of a novel written but it's stashed in a drawer currently, covered in dust after two years of neglect while my writing life has been totally consumed with Tea & Chemo and Glass Houses. I'm looking forward to getting back to it. I also have two other novels started which vary from 'fleshed out ideas' to a 'good half of the first draft written'. Watch this space!

8. What has the publishing process been like for you?
Every bit as wonderful as I'd dreamed – and some. When I first clicked on the Urbane Publications website, I found myself plunging deep into the inner pages of Google to check that this Utopia of a publishing house was actually kosher. It is. Urbane Publications, led by the charismatic, dedicated and incredibly hard-working, Matthew Smith, is all about collaboration. I've been consulted at every step of the way and have enjoyed working in a team to make my books the best they can possibly be. Now Urbane and I work together to make sure people know my books are out there. I'm having a ball and thank my lucky stars that I discovered Urbane Publications on Twitter. 

9. What are your hopes and dreams for the future?
I've never been one for hopes and dreams, in the same way that I'm not one for regrets and mistakes. I believe in striving to get the best out of every day and if you put all your efforts into that, say yes to everything you possibly can as a matter of default, then your life will be rich. I don’t know what the next five years have in store for me and I find that exciting. I just hope that I'm alive to see them and everything else is a bonus.

10. Can you describe your life in three words?
Busy, happy, rewarding

11. What advice have you got for all of us?
Phew! I'm not sure I'm qualified to give advice so I shall steal a mantra I first saw on the opening credits of Cold Feet (a wonderful drama from the late 90s for those of you too young to remember). I saw this quote and thought, there it is, that's what I've been trying to articulate all along. Are you ready?

Life's a journey, travel it well.

Retreat West hosts Tea and Chemo

unsatisfactory words bound for recycling

As my head is deep in editing at the moment, forgive me for flying in just to let you know that the wonderful Amanda Saint over at Retreat West has interviewed me about Tea and Chemo (with a dash of Glass Houses) for her blog. Her questions were excellent, really made me think, so I hope you'll found the responses interesting. You can view the post here.

Meanwhile, I'm back to *almost* the final edit of Glass Houses, deleting 'turn' and 'saw', 'then' and, 'just' (forgive me for allowing one of the 205 - oh the shame - occurrences of 'just' to sneak into this post) and searching for different words for 'smile'. Wish me luck! I have three days… 

Tea at The Haven

Today, I am emerging from behind my desk where I have been toiling at my strange strategy for cutting the word count of the final, final, FINAL draft of Glass Houses by deleting a word and adding ten more, to visit the wonderful Haven in Leeds. 

They are hosting the Big Tea Cosy, 1-4 pm, 10th February,  the opportunity to have a brew – and cakes, certainly cakes – raffle and chat as well as a tour around The Haven, with a chance to learn a little more about what it does. Of course, all proceeds go to keeping this charity going.  If you generally need a little more notice for your day off (what do you mean, you do have a life?) then could you consider hosting your own Big Tea Cosy? There's more information here. 

For The Haven by the
amazing Ornella-Bianca

And I'll be signing copies of Tea & Chemo so please do pop along if you live locally. We’d love to see you.

All profit from Tea & Chemo is divided between three charities of which The Haven is one and I hope the extract below will explain why.

So, I was having physio after breaking my foot running and then I was diagnosed with cancer on December  27^th 2013.

…

I didn’t know if a cancer diagnosis had any bearing on physio but as far as I was concerned, I was waiting for my mastectomy, hadn’t started chemo, wasn’t teaching and wanted to run. I also knew that if I could run during treatment, that it would help get me through. And it did.

So I kept my appointment with Helen, (she's not really called, Helen) my physio.

"Good Christmas?" she asked.

"A bit different," I said.

After years of chatter while Helen had pummelled my sore hamstrings, calf, other calf, bottom and, oh, the pain, my back, she’d never told me about her auntie. Until now. I learnt that her auntie had had breast cancer in her 50’s and The Haven had been her, well, haven. Helen said that it had also been good for her as a relative. She said that I would have to go. I’d get lots of free treatments which would really help in chemo and I’d meet other people in the same situation.

"Right," I said. I didn’t want to be rude but I intended on running my way through treatments and going for cappuccinos with my existing friends in between. I wasn’t sure I’d have time to meet new people – or whether it would be helpful.

"And you’ll have to model in the annual fashion show," she said.

You can probably imagine how I felt about that. Aside from the fact that nothing ever fits me at the lofty height of five foot one and three quarters, walking down the stage with only one boob and a bald head? Thanks for the offer but I think I’ll be at home pairing socks that night.

Back to the task in hand and I was told that I wouldn’t be able to have my usual physio that week but that Helen could gently massage the affected area in my foot, which sounded a fairly pleasant alternative.

The only hint Helen gave that my news had shocked her was when I became aware of her massaging the wrong foot. At first I wondered if this alternative to the usual bending and prodding was a 2 for 1 deal, but when she tapped the wrong foot and said, ‘All done!’ I realised that my fiercely organised physio was flustered.

Flash forward a few weeks and yes, I did visit The Haven. On my first trip I sat for an hour with the manager, Debra Horsman, and cried. I very rarely cried about cancer in the early days. Normally, outside of The Haven, I think I was scared to lift the lid in case I couldn’t get it back on again. I was sent away with a programme of treatments including reflexology, a nutritional consultation and acupuncture. Acupuncture saved me from sleepless nights from chemo and Tamoxifen induced hot sweats – plus I loved our chats.

And guess what? Nine months after diagnosis I was involved in my first ever fashion shoot, wig still firmly in place, for LK Bennett in aid of The Haven. And just over a year later I was part of the Bo Carter modelling group in the annual Haven Fashion Show, without the wig this time. It was the most uplifting experience and I feel privileged to have had the opportunity. I hasten to add that the rigorous selection process for the modelling involved sending an RSVP to say that I was available. 

My physio was right. The Haven is a godsend for people with a cancer diagnosis and their family and friends. But it is RELIANT on fundraising.

Punctual People

I have a severe affliction of OneMoreJob-itis, GreenLight-itis (or Travel Utopia) and AllThoseFiveMinuteJobsAddUp-itis.

Or dare I say, I had?

Today I had a hospital appointment booked for 9am. Anybody who knows where I live and the location of my local hospital six point eight miles away, will know that if you cross your fingers, have a good wind behind you, an impressive grasp of alternative car parking spaces and leave home at around 4am, you'd be unlucky not to make it in time.

I decided to go on the train.

I toyed with the idea of catching the 8.22 as per my normal way of being. The train would arrive at 8.36 (no, punctual people, of course it wouldn’t be delayed), the one point one mile walk would take twenty minutes, thus leaving me with a couple of minutes to check in at the well-staffed, all systems working like clock-work desk for Out Patients.

But today I decided that I would step away from living on the edge and just for once, I'd take the earlier train. Even with delays, I'd still have time to walk over the slightly further but very much drier path rather than run/walk in heels (hey! I'm five foot two on my tip-toes, people tread on me if I don’t wear heels), with my cross over bag tossing like a caber on my back, over the shorter (as the crow flies) muddy fields.

Besides, if I got there early I could have a coffee and do some writing. And that, dear readers, is how I come to be writing this blog post now.

I confess I did run onto the train from the station for my out-bound journey, which is only three minutes from my house, (well actually, it's forty seconds, providing the road you're trying to cross has been blocked off or it's FA Cup Saturday) but once the train had arrived perfectly on time and I'd begun my walk, I experienced something new.

I walked fairly briskly, I'm not sure 'sedate' is really in my psyche, but without even a whisper of needing to do my run/walk. I stepped without adrenalin pumping into my feet or angst puncturing my every thought that I might be late. I walked over crunching frost and noticed the blue of the sky. I enjoyed the cold air on my face with my hands nestled deep in my favourite gloves, without concern I might be sweating.

I arrived at the hospital half an hour in advance of my appointment, bought myself a take-out coffee - no queue – decided I'd have time to get my blood test done – no queue – which I'd originally planned to do after the 9am appointment and probably would have forgotten until I was on that return train home. I checked-in, took my seat and my pen and paper from my bag and am now waiting for my appointment. Let me say that again: I am waiting for my appointment.

Punctual people, I get it now.

Two Years Hence

It slipped itself in between Christmas Day and New Year's Eve, waved, smiled, winked and left. I gave a nod of appreciation, lifted an imaginary glass of champagne (imaginary because you know The Body That Got Cancer likes to keep a firm eye on its units and the bubbles had been flowing since Christmas Eve) and took just a moment, a quiet moment - I'm still not ready to dance on the tables - to say thank you.

With the 27^th December came my second Cancerversary. I'm superstitious. I know enough to know that we can never dismiss the potential for secondaries or, indeed, that any of us can be complacent about the potential for a primary cancer to form, but I'm grateful for the relative peace and calm that my Two Year Cancerversary brings.

Last year I wrote about my first Cancerversary here. It was a cautious celebration in a sort of raw, new girl at school kind of way: knowing it should be fun but not quite ready to let down all my defences. This year I feel more settled in, comfortable, that I understand the post cancer diagnosis and treatment world into which I was plunged and most days I can cope with it quite effortlessly, thank you.

The Fear which I wrote about here, does still haunt me from time to time. I've had a few scares, just admirable vigilance on behalf of the medical profession, and although my style is to busy myself so that I have no room left to fret, the fear does nonetheless manage to settle itself in over the top of my brain sometimes and leak into my thoughts. It's not an undue pressure, nothing like the early days of The Wait and The Not Knowing, nothing like the fear of recurrence when chemo finished and for a few months after, but it's 'just there', in an annoying little tic kind of way.

So, from the position of being two years post cancer diagnosis, I would like to say to anybody who is further back on this rocky road than I am, it does get better and it gets a whole lot easier.

So much had happened since my first anniversary a year ago. Last 27^th December, I hadn't even heard of the pioneering publishers, Urbane Publications, let alone submitted to them and here I am with Tea And Chemo published and Glass Houses on its way out of the door next June.

Most of my work was on hold during my year of treatments so I only really started back to teaching and editing at the beginning of 2015 and you know, I'd really missed the buzz of writers excited about their stories. My return to work this year has been a baptism of fire with the writing and promotion of Tea And Chemo to throw into the mix, plus the small matter of my final edits on Glass Houses, which we'll gloss over because I'm a little behind on those. But it's been wonderful to be back to full busy-ness again. Although sometimes I curse the stairs up to my office after dinner or at the weekend, cancer taught me, if I didn't already know, that sitting still doesn't really work for me.

This year other people I know have been diagnosed with cancer, some very young people in my online group have developed secondaries. Some have died from them. My heart breaks a little every time. Not for me, so far I continue to be one of the lucky ones, but because cancer is still such an enormous thorn in the side of human health. Great strides have been made in all areas of cancer diagnoses, cure and care but until we can take a pill to rid ourselves of cancer before it even suggests any danger, until we have 100% accurate diagnostic tests to take action before it dares to become a possibility, we must keep fundraising, caring and raising awareness.

This Cancerversary, in addition to the wonders of the medical profession that blasted the cancer cells and my family and friends who kept me sane and continue to do so, I'd also like to thank Matthew Smith, owner of Urbane Publications. Right from the start, when Tea And Chemo was a collection of blog posts and an idea, Matthew determined that Urbane Publications would also give every penny of profit to the three charities I was keen to support:The Haven in Leeds, The Sir Robert Ogden Macmillan Centre in Harrogate and the national charity, Breast Cancer Now.

If you are interested in buying a copy of Tea And Chemo, your purchase will help the three charities. If you are not interested in buying a copy of Tea And Chemo, that's ok, I need never know… but you could still give your pennies to one of these three charities and then you wouldn't feel half as bad :)

Meanwhile, I'm off to celebrate because it's New Year's Eve and the new year coming, the adventures we don't yet know, now that's something I really love to celebrate. Have a wonderful new year lovely readers, may 2016 be filled with life-affirming moments.