Keep up at the back!


This blog is supposed to be about writing but it feels as if it is becoming more about a life which includes writing. So, looking back, I should be celebrating on here that I finished the first draft of my second book (a follow-up to He’s Gone). But, I had to finish the first draft because work was about to go mad and I had other commitments involving writing non-fiction to a deadline.So far, the to-do list is still bristling.

I’d rather look forward than back. Next week for example. It’s the start of a campaign for #everyday inclusion, with the simple phrase ‘Every workplace for every colleague’. Just think about that for a moment. A workplace where everyone feels welcome, everyone can do their job free from anxiety over whether their ‘face fits’. Sounds good, doesn’t it?

Coming from an author that may be counter-intuitive – conflict is the staple of the novel and I heap plenty of hassle onto my main character because I want to hold up a mirror to discriminatory behaviour and get people thinking about consequences. But that’s fiction. In real life, work is a place where yes, you go to earn money but it’s also a social place that gives you a sense of worth. If it isn’t then something is wrong. Life may get in the way of writing but what it does help with is making the writing richer when you do get around to it…



Why the radio silence?

Because I’ve been writing and on holiday. The two are connected because Eurostar, in addition to being much easier than flying, is a long train journey and what are train journeys good for?  I am so conditioned now to writing #onthetrain that I wonder whether I  should try and buy myself a scrapped railway carriage and install it in the back garden…


Parisian rooftops with lots of chimneys

And that Eurostar took me here. Perhaps not the most recognisable shot of Paris but that is what I love about being there – you see so many sights, some characteristic, some not. I saw people kissing hello and goodbye. Sitting at a pavement cafe over a wine-lubricated lunch, I watched mothers and fathers dropping their children back at school (one door for door for juniors, some of whom wriggled when their parents hugged them) and one door for primary children, some who didn’t want to let go. I saw an old man crouched behind a car, pulling up his underpants where he had soiled himself.

And it’s all going into a book somewhere…