Doris Day, Shades of Grey and Sasha Fierce

Absolutely the best bit for me about being an author, apart from writing… or maybe that should be ‘having written’ since the process involves an awful lot of toil and tears… is getting feedback from readers. The ones who’ve enjoyed it, that it is. Getting feedback from folks who haven’t enjoyed it isn’t much fun at all, but, there, everyone’s entitled to their opinion.

Reaching those readers, though, is the tricky part. I’m put off by authors who use social media only to trumpet about their latest book so it makes me reluctant to shout about mine.

Sometimes, however, I’m genuinely too excited to keep it in, like on Monday, when Move Over Darling did something extraordinary, racing up the Amazon charts and settling – for a heady moment – at #2 in the Movers and Shakers chart and at #3 in Women Writers & Fiction. I was very tickled to see my title with its bright cover and Doris Day references resting between two editions of Fifty Shade of Grey so forgive me for sharing the screen grab here. And I haven’t forgotten that the higher you climb the pole, the more of your backside you reveal!

Talking to journalists is a mixed blessing too – I’m not whining about the fact someone is interested enough to want to speak to me, believe me, but I’m more comfortable talking about my books than myself. ‘You need a Sasha Fierce, Mum,’ says Rose, referring to Beyoncé’s alter ego, making me laugh as I conjure up visions of fearless Chris Fierce strutting around out there. Until she appears though, I’ll muddle along and give grateful thanks to my nearest and dearest for putting up with me and to all of you for permitting me the occasional outburst of trumpet tootling.

And now here’s a tootle for lovely Debs Carr who’s worked at her writing with such fierce determination and secured representation by top agent Luigi Bonomi. Fantastic news, Debs – many congratulations to you.

Happy Endings, New Beginnings

Blended families come with conflicting loyalties and at Christmas time nearly everyone has somewhere else they feel they ought to be. Throw partners into the equation and it gets even more complicated. Since Tom and I aren’t especially hung up about Christmas we’re happy to let our children go with the strongest flow, but I have to say it was a great delight to have the girls and their partners staying with us this year. When such moments are few and far between they become very precious. My stepsons weren’t far from our thoughts either, not least because we had the very happy news on Christmas Day that my elder stepson and his girlfriend had become engaged. Congratulations Dan and Gill, here’s wishing you every happiness together. Tom and I end a year that has seen the fruition of many years work, both of us crossing important thresholds within weeks of each other. I’m really looking forwards to seeing Turning the Tide published next year and it’s been so satisfying, after al...

Fly Free, Dottie Do

‘How many days to my birthday?’ Ma asks. I do a quick calculation. ‘Eighteen,’ I reply. ‘Eighteen days until your ninetieth birthday.’ Ma pulls a face and shakes her head. Every sentence is hard work for her now, when each breath is a struggle. ‘You’ll have to write a book about this, you know,’ she says, with one of her quick, mischievous smiles. ‘“Carry On Dying”. Make ‘em laugh, make ‘em cry.’ The smile fades. ‘Who knew,’ she adds wearily, ‘that dying would be such a palaver?’ It’s only eleven days since Ma was diagnosed with a high-grade, aggressive lymphoma, four days since she was overwhelmed with pain and breathing difficulties and was admitted as an emergency to hospital. Until a few weeks ago, she lived completely independently; shopping, cooking, cleaning and tending her much-loved garden. The deterioration in her health is shockingly rapid. The eight days preceding her death are a living hell, a constant battle with the ward staff to get Ma the pain relief she’s been p...

Since You've Been Gone

Well, Ma Mère, There have been so many times when I’ve gathered up all the little shiny moments I’ve collected during the day, ready to present to you in our evening phone call and then I remember all over again that you’re not there. But, Mum, so much has happened since you’ve gone - maybe you know, maybe you don’t - that I’ve decided to write to you instead. A few days after you died, we sold our house! After all those months! We even joked about you rattling cages somewhere. At first, nothing happened and then suddenly everything happened at a breathless pace and the next thing I knew I found myself driving (yes, me, driving!) along the M4 to Bridgend and the Time Capsule House, the one you said you and Dad would have bought. I remarked, when we first viewed it that if it was meant for us, it would come to us. Over a year later, when it had been under offer twice, we moved in. Oh, Mum, you and Dad would have loved this house; it’s peak Seventies and the decor - the pampas ensu...

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