My pièce de résistance is probably a toss-up between tuna pasta and stew. We have only been lying low for a couple of weeks, but I have already received a few pointed comments wrapped in sarcasm and drizzled with a little innuendo.
I have more cookery books than I have ever cooked anything sensational, so I’ve no excuse, and I am making an effort.
After a week of soaking up the sun, I woke up to what sounded like gravel being hurled against my window this morning. Only it wasn’t gravel, it was rain/hail. It was only 5.45 a.m., which was annoying as I didn’t have to go anywhere. Still, I had five hours of sleep, instead of four.
It’s horribly surreal. Waking up to another beautiful morning and knowing the proverbial shit is about to hit the fan.
Life as we know it is about to change.
The fields around me were ploughed and planted with potatoes yesterday. Superficially, life as we know it appears to be carrying on as normal, but a big, black underbelly of invisible menace is lurking, waiting to strike.
IS IT TIME TO START ENFORCING FINES FOR PEOPLE WHO FLOUT THE SELF-ISOLATION RULES?
One woman went to a coffee shop yesterday having returned home from a holiday in Teneriffe. Another, in a similar situation, said she had run out of food, so had to go to the supermarket. Which begs the question, and just not here in Jersey, why do people have to flout the self-isolation rules when they know the lives of more vulnerable people are at stake? Does their selfishness know no bounds?
For those of us already working from home, as well as those who are self-isolating, take heart ♥. The fantastic weather we are having may be doing more than boosting our Vitamin D and taking our minds off the uncertainties for the future.
I woke up sneezing this morning and wondered if the bastard-bug had got to me. However, after two cups of coffee and two pieces of toast later, I am glad to report that the sneezing fit was probably something to do with a stray speck of dust. Being vigilant is a good thing, but I need to get a grip on automatically assuming that one sneeze means I need to self-isolate.
Over the last week, this site has had many, many visitors from Lithuania. I am ashamed to say I had to look at the map to see where Lithuania was – I think I must have failed Geography O Level. I’m not sure 🤔 I’ve ever had a […]
It’s hard to keep the comedic banter going, now that the Coronavirus has been declared a World Health Emergency. The enormity of its threat to our very existence has rather paled Brexit Day into submission. Not that this day is anything to celebrate, its more like a wake. It’s a day I hoped would never come, along with half the British population.
I am just about to come to the end of what will be the final edit of… Draft number 12 of my first novel… I think it’s number 12, but I’ve lost count. So I’m a long way off seeing my book in print, let alone watching Renée Zellweger win another gong for playing the part of my MC and thanking me in her acceptance speech.
NYE’s never fails to evoke a degree of emotion, even more so when it’s the end of a decade. As a subconscious switch was about to turn on the emotional NYE waterworks, one of the five framed pictures of flowers above my bedhead, all embroidered by my late mother, just happened to fall on my head.
I had to laugh. Was it my mother’s way of wishing me a happy new year from some parallel universe? Or was the Universe itself sending me a positive sign that, if I keep a clear head, 2020 just might be my year?
Bring it on!
As 2019 draws to a close, remember the things that are important during 2020. ❤️ Here is my, uncharacteristically gloomy New Year video. Rather than calling it Bye Bye 2019, maybe I should have called it Good Riddance 2019?
As 2019 fizzles out at midnight tonight, I would like to thank you all for your continued support during the past year. It means a great deal.
Now what? No doubt Johnson, having been officially elected by the populate, will get stuck in a.s.a.p and start to address pressing matters such as the underfunded NHS and the 14 million people living in poverty. Just like his predecessors at Number 10 have been doing since May 2010. Oh, but wait, how could I forget, Johnson’s priority, of course, is Brexit.
I don’t seem to have found my 2019 Christmas spirit yet. Rushing out to buy a Christmas tree hasn’t been at the forefront of my mind, as in previous years. Bringing home a Nordmann fir and decorating it in front of a roaring fire while enjoying a glass […]
Earlier this year, I met Gemma Dupont, who is a part of my Word Press blogging family, as well as a fellow aspiring author. Enthusiastic, bright and bubbly; her motto has always been… caring is sharing.
Gemma very recently finished writing her memoir, Perpetual Helix, all bar one final, professional edit. She is so close, yet so far away from achieving her dream to see it in print.
This week, Gemma has received a truly devastating diagnosis. Stage 4 lung and brain cancer.
Gemma urgently needs an editor who would be willing to get the manuscript to the stage where Gemma can, at least, self-publish, as a legacy for her partner and her children.
As the cogs start to turn and 2019 rolls into 2020, changes are afoot here at Lost Blogs. It will be a new chapter in the life of this pantser-style blog, as its creator evolves into the Plotter she always knew she should be.
Yesterday I went to four sessions at the Jersey Festival of Words, it was the day for me to soak up the words of wisdom, as well as support, local writing talent and hopes of coming away with a better understanding of what literary agents are looking for.
Without an agent, your labour of love, AKA your novel, isn’t going anywhere and, with each rejection, you are engulfed by an overwhelming urge to self-publish. A few of your friends, as well as people you have never met, have read it and given you favourable feedback, but if your MS isn’t attracting an agent, then maybe you should think twice as to whether your labour of love is worthy of self-publication.
Over a million authors self-published during 2017, so there is plenty of competition out there. But, before you chuck your manuscript in the bin, be buoyed up by this…
Stephen King’s first big novel, Carrie, was rejected 30 times. He tossed it in the wastebasket but his wife fished it out. He earned $39 million in 2012.
I am impatient, true to my birth sign, Aries, but my dotage years are too close for comfort, so I need to get on and resolve my dilemma. Cultivating patience and continue to try and find an agent to work with, or give way to my impatience and join the ever-swelling ranks of the self-published?
VIDEO: This is YOUR time to realise YOUR dreams.
Happy Saturday Everyone! Hope you are out achieving your dreams? 🙂
“You may be the only person left who believes in you, but it’s enough. It takes just one star to pierce a universe of darkness. Never give up.” Richelle E. Goodrich, Smile Anyway
At dawn one morning I found myself talking to the Universe, well nobody else seemed to be listening and begging it to make my shit state of affairs go away.
The mighty Universe must have heard, as shortly after my impassioned plea, I was scrolling through Facebook and found Julianne Palmer, a clairvoyant in Australia. I noticed that one of my friends had liked her page, so I had a look.
In the past, I had never paid too much attention to what the stars had to say about what fate lay in store for me, but I was desperate for an indication from somebody, that my life was going to improve. So I took a leap of faith and picked a card.