At the first opportunity, I will be travelling again, as soon as it’s safe. I have various autoimmune problems, so I am not taking any chances. I don’t want anything else. Even worse, I could be asymptomatic, and the last thing I would ever want to do is infect […]
I am about to start submissions, again, so I hope this one doesn’t come back to bite me! I wrote this doggerel almost thirty years ago. It was inspired by an experience I had at sixteen when I still had, misguided, aspirations about pursuing a career on the stage.
She closed her eyes.
‘Forty-years-old and no husband. It’s unthinkable. How could it possibly happen to a daughter of mine?’
Having a forty-year-old daughter did not sit comfortably with Cynthia, especially a forty-year-old unmarried one. She squirmed inwardly, turning up her stinky fish nose and pursing her lips as the phrase spinster of the parish flashed into her mind.
She wasn’t really surprised. She always felt Katie’s choice of men over the years had been questionable. Probably satisfying in the bedroom department perhaps, but none of them ever had any money.
In Cynthia’s mind, money, lots of it, and preferably a title were the essential ingredients to sustain a successful marriage.
THE EDITING NIGHTMARE – THE END! Well, all bar the kicking, screaming and the next wave of submissions. Or should that be the other way around?
I have been pussyfooting around the final edit since the beginning of September 2020. After receiving amazing feedback for Say it, I’ve been putting off restructuring the final draft. As of Monday, I am pleased to announce that I finally kicked the procrastination, knuckled down and willingly went into self-induced […]
At the age of fifteen, Lisa believed she was going to be a one-woman equivalent of Rodgers and Hammerstein II and mounted a production of her first musical.
My printer ink reservoir of patience and calm has run dry. I am exhausted and stressed – not a good place to be. I am in mourning for my late lamented printer.
Charred Remains is an excerpt from the novel Just Say It! by Tessa Barrie, bittersweet story of how growing up with a narcissist mother, affects journalist, Lisa Grant’s, life.
Bye, Bye week number 30, 2020. You’ve been an interesting one.
I never thought I would feel the love for lemon sherbet popcorn, but stranger things have happened when you are stranded at an airport.
It’s done. After two weeks, our garden table is de-stressed to perfection. This morning, I kept running the palm of my hand over the table’s silky surface, in admiration of the skill with which it has been stripped. Finally, it is ready to paint! 💃💃
10.00 a.m. breakfast with my agent at Bumpkins Beach Bar, Antigua to discuss the opportunity for a sequel, to novel number 6 and the film rights for my autobiographical romp … My Overactive Imagination.
I would like to thank fellow Word Press blogger Jessica Nielsen, wife, mother and indie author, for my nomination for the Sunshine Blogger Award. To find more about this supermom, with a penchant for dropping the odd F-bomb, head over there now! https://jnsupermoms.com The Sunshine Blogger Award is […]
Being in Lockdown changes you. The way you think and feel as well as making you do strange things. Week 8 got off to an unfortunate start when I accidentally sprayed the sunflower seedlings with an anti-bacterial spray instead of water. It wasn’t the brightest thing to do. […]
In November 2019, I had the pleasure of interviewing children’s author Becci Murray, who had recently published her book, Billy’s Brain Booster Juice. Earlier this month she released a children’s poetry book – subtly entitled, ‘Don’t Wear Your Knickers on Your Head (and other very serious poems about really important […]
Awake at dawn again, I made a cup of coffee, took it back to bed and started working on my WIP, but ended up drifting off. I was happy with how the interaction between my main protagonist and another key character was going when I must have drifted […]
I’ve never trusted anybody who comes over as having had a sense of humour bypass. When chatting to someone new at a party or, these days, at a virtual social soiree, you unleash your best one-liner. As your voice trails away into cyberspace, together with the sound of a damp squib, it’s time to mute yourself, and go and chat to someone else.
This morning, I woke up feeling like a bit of limp lettuce. The last time I felt like a Butterhead, was after I had run 5 kilometres.
You wake up every morning to the gentle whooshing sound of the sea underneath your water bungalow, before dropping off your deck into the clear, turquoise water. Flipping onto your back and staring up into the bluest of blue skies. It doesn’t get much better than that.