As well as spending time with my kids, I seem to devote a lot of time to finding books for them to read. Books which, of course, they fall upon with glee and joy (hahaha!). But recently looking through the teen girl bookshelves made me think about the differences between what I used to enjoy reading, and what I think my daughter should like. There's something good (to me) about having her inspired by butt kicking princesses, but actually when I was her age, the girls I wanted to read about were good girls - the Jane Eyre and Emma types. The books I liked featured order, and discipline, and people all getting together at the end of the day, no matter how many 'adventures' they'd been on. Little Women was perhaps my ideal book, although embarrasingly I always preferred Amy to Jo, and since I'm confessing, I am the only female I have ever met who wanted to be Ann, and not George, in the Famous Five. Why on earth would anyone choose to hang out with creepy (and bossy) Julian, when you could stay at camp where it was warm, and at least you'd be able to get some peace? So what I'm thinking is whether I've got it wrong as a book-buying parent. Rather than buying the books I think I'd like to read if I were a teenager now, I ought either to suggest books that are the equivalent of home-baked cakes and warm baths (as those books were for me), or, even better, let her choose her reading herself! Maybe for teenagers, there's enough chaos in the world already, without finding it between the covers of your book? Or maybe I'm just a wimp. Hmmm.. no need to answer that one.

And my writing prompt for today is a random word from the dictionary - sweptwing - having wings swept (usually) backwards.

Something(s) to read for the weekend? Here are two stories which create very different atmospheres. Try Chris Mann Shaw's funny story, Dead Laundry:

What we aim for is, invariably, not what we get. By we I mean all of us. Or some of us. Or maybe just people like me.

and Myfanwy Collins's sparkling short, Prey:

There is not a great deal of light.

She lives at the bottom of a hill, in a valley of sorts. The sun goes down early. In the summer, it is behind the three big oak trees by 5PM. Without this light is a depression or an excuse to have cocktails earlier and earlier. By December, the glasses and ice were coming out at 3:59PM in anticipation of 4PM and darkness.

And my writing prompt for today is taken from the title my favourite comic book of the moment: Life's a bitch. (Oh, how much I love Roberta Gregory)

I've been at an arts conference all day, but I'm still determined to write so my prompt for today will be ... 'a letter left under the pillow.'

If you like gadgets at all, you'll love swissmiss's blog. I've become addicted, but in particular this doggie bag (above) made me laugh so much.

I've been doing too much analytical and critical writing recently, and not enough creative, so when I turn to thinking about fiction or poetry, my brain (or imagination) feels lazy and wants to get back to facts. It's like a rusty old wheel that needs to be cranked up. So today on my dog walk, I made a note of what I saw ... a small schoolboy pushing his older sister in a wheelchair and bursting into tears because he couldn't manage to get her up the hill and his mother had to come over to help; a smartly dressed woman in a fur hat swearing like a sailor because the gate she wanted to take a short cut through was locked; a man I know has just been made redundant looking as if he was having to learn how to walk in a different way without his briefcase weighing him down on one side; a woman trailing a suitcase on wheels behind her like a dog suddenly skipping in the middle of the path; the park keeper telling me about an albino badger he's been feeding and how he thinks about it all the time; a previously beautiful man made ugly by the way he's shaved his head ...

And my writing prompt for today is to sit in three different public places and just write what I see and hear.

Lovely, solidly observant story - Juvenalia, by C Bard Cole - here (or should that be there?)

"The reader has certain rights. He bought your story. Think of this as an implicit contract. He's entitled to be entertained, instructed, amused; maybe all three. If he quits in the middle, or puts the book down feeling his time has been wasted, you're in violation." --Larry Niven

USEFUL WRITING DISTRACTIONS - Number Five
READING BOOKS ABOUT WRITING

My current top five are (in no particular order):

Al Alvarez, The Writer's Voice
Annie Dillard, The Writing Life
Brenda Ueland, If You Want To Write
Natalie Goldberg, Wild Mind
Susan Wooldridge, Poemcrazy
Any other suggestions welcome...!

And my writing prompt for today comes from a quote by Barbara Kingsolver, which probably puts trying to make sense of all of the above into perspective! It is: Close the door. Write with no one looking over your shoulder. Don't try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It's the one and only thing you have to offer.

I'm just about to change laptops and am frantically saving material from my hard drive, because I'm not as careful as I should be about keeping stuff. But it made me think. When I was looking through my notes for the next novel, The Seduction Committee, I made the decision just to keep the working files. So this means that when I'm famous, dead, or just dead famous etc etc, I will look like even more of a genius with none of the crossings out, wrong turnings, that we like to look at, and preserve in the libraries of universities across America, with the work of writers who actually wrote by hand. I, on the other hand, will seem to have got the writing process right first time. One of my most precious possessions is the hand-written manuscript of a play by Alice Duer Miller - there's something about seeing and holding a piece of paper she's written on, that you just can't replicate from a printed sheet. Lucky anonymous bidder then of the David Beckham letters, even if they concentrate mainly on girls and football. And so - just to stop this completely being a gratuitious excuse to post a photograph of that beautiful back - my writing prompt today will be 'buying David Beckham's tattoo.'

The New York Public Library - who actually own and have on display the original Pooh Bear and friends (see below) - have issued their list of 25 Books to Remember from 2005. Of course, the list is American so it's not surprising I haven't read that many. If it had been British, it's obvious I'd have read all 25. Hmmm....

I'm feeling very happy - a friend of mine has won second prize in the National Poetry Competition. Fantastic news, Dom, and a very well deserved win! You can read the winning poems here, with more details on the Poetry Society webpage.

There's an interesting series of readings on time coming up in London this month. The blurb reads:

How do writers use history to make their own mark on the literary landscape? Switching from personal memories to political milestones, looking at place, myth, art and architecture, Stop the Clock questions how we read the present through our collective past. In this major series of talks on history and the perception of time, British and European writers will discuss the way contemporary writing explores these themes. The series will run through March in the Purcell Room of the South Bank Centre.

The programme can be found here.

And thinking of time (or wasting it), counting sheep has never really worked to send me to sleep because they always get too active jumping over bigger and bigger fences, but there's something restful - and addictive - about these poetic sheep. I can't stop shuffling them into different word formations. Keeping the sheep theme, I'm going to use this half-cut lamb as my writing prompt today!

How do you read a book of poetry? If you're like me, then rarely do you start at the beginning and work your way through to the end. However, many poets I know seem to spend hours sorting out their collection into a particular order for just that kind of reading. I've not written enough poems for a collection, but in the Independent, Hugo Williams had this to say about organisation:

When putting a book together I always think of what Philip Larkin told his publisher when asked if there might be another book in the offing. "In the past I've always had 10 good ones and the rest were fillers. Well, I've got the fillers.'' Not all of us are so rigorous. We go ahead and publish our fillers and are damned. Larkin said he always liked to put a good one at the beginning and at the end of a book. I always look there before buying anyone's new book. If the last poem's no good they're in trouble. Another consideration might be to sprinkle your "good ones'' throughout the book, to give an impression of quality, or at least to spread out your "fillers'' so they don't gang up on you.

I like the picture he creates of how he goes about it:

My method at this time is to clear the room and place all my poems on pieces of furniture where I can see them. Now I stand in the middle, suitably coffee'd up, and attempt to conduct the storm. The idea is to make something greater than the sum of its parts by having all the poems cast an eye both forward and back - a virtually impossible demand of poems that are also required to stand on their own.

One writing friend of mine reckons all writers need a dog to add the necessary element of chaos to their life (what, not enough already?); another is trying to train up the perfect writing dog - one that will sit for long hours patiently during 'writing time', but always be ready to go for contemplative walks when needed. My own dog, Tally, is the very opposite of this as she wants to go for action walks the whole time and whines when she's not the centre of attention, so I was all set to replace her with this intelligent robotic guinea pig I found. It looked wonderful - can even find its way out of a maze - until I read on and saw that if you don't play with it, 'he becomes lonely and scared and he will go hiding in a dark place' (sic). Just like a writer, in fact.

So here instead is one of the best short stories featuring a dog (just to keep the theme), Anton Chekov's Lady and Lapdog, but my writing prompt for today is ... a dark place.

This picture by Mary Cassatt, The Boating Party, is my writing prompt for today. There's something about the uneasy relationship between the woman and the man I want to figure out.
And something for the weekend? Enjoy Cheryl Moskowitz's disturbing story, In Her Shoes.

Clare Dudman has a really good account of a recent talk by Baroness Susan Greenfield on her blog. One bit I found particularly interesting:

"She also went on to consider the concept of creativity - theorising that it is necessary to
(i) be able to deconstruct (ie to be able to work within small networks like the child, to abstract sensations);
(ii) make unusual, idiosyncratic connections;
and (iii) trigger new associations and therefore see the world in a new way and so activate more extensive connections thereby triggering the 'Eureka' moment."

I was lucky enough to share one of my first readings with Mil Millington and despite being so nervous I could hardly speak, it ended up being a happy time, not least because Mil is genuinely funny and generous. Anyway, that time in Newcastle has set the tone for others, because it made me see readings aren't there to punish the writer - in fact, you can actually enjoy them yourself! I find Mil just as funny on the page - see here, and his new book, Love and Other Near Death Experiences. He says himself it's a 'divisive' book, and looking at the Amazon reviews makes me think he's not exaggerating. What is it about some books that do this? The Sea by John Banville comes to mind. I loved it, loved the language, got swept away by it in fact, and then read some of the reviews and couldn't help thinking they'd picked up a different book.

"The test of any good fiction is that you should care something for the characters; the good to succeed, the bad to fail. The trouble with most fiction is that you want them all to land in hell, together, as quickly as possible." --Mark Twain

Writing prompt for today, from 'homage to my hips' by Lucille Clifton: 'these hips have never been enslaved'.

Really pleased to find two of Kate Chopin's stories here. As someone who is trying to kick the Amazon habit, not least by turning off on-click, I can't get over how much is up for free. When I have all the time in the world, I'm going to start working my way through all the books on Bibliomania's site too.

Book titles are hard. When I was writing Something Beginning With, it was provisionally called 'A Lexicon of Love', but then we found another Lexicon of Love coming out around the same time which was, from memory, subtitled 'a dictionary of depravity', and with the best will in the world, my novel couldn't really compete with that. Imagine my sister's dilemma then, when she had to find a suitable name for her book on self-massage. Strangely enough we could come up with lots of suggestions, most of which we found very funny indeed, but none with the air of family values and professionalism she wanted. Or deserved, because it's not just sisterly pride that makes me think hers is a really great book. Funny though how easy it is to think of titles for other people's books, but not your own. Perhaps you just get too close to it. There's a great site for finding out whether your title has any commercial value or not. It's here.

And my writing prompt for today is ... a meal to remember.

It's International Women's Day today, and so the Independent newspaper celebrates with a front cover of facts including - women in full-time jobs earn an average 17% less than British men; 1 in 7 women in Ethiopia die in pregnancy or childbirth (it is one in 19,000 in Britian); 67% of all illiterate adults are women; 85m girls worldwide are unable to attend school, compared with 45m boys. In Chad, just 4% of girls go to school; 700,000,000 women are without adequate food, water, sanitation, health care or education (compared with 400,000,000 men) and 1% of the titled land in the world is owned by women. A link on Myfanwy's blog took me to this site, Women for Women. Seems like a good day to actually do something.

My writing prompt for today comes from a list someone sent of quotes from the late darts commentator, Sid Wadell, and is: "You couldn't get more excitement here if Elvis Presley walked in eating a chip sandwich!"

So the longlist for the Orange Prize has just been announced - my wish is for Beyond Black, but this is a great list. I want to read all of them.

And my writing prompt for today is ... a random line from Rumi: 'cut holes in it, and called it a human being.'

Well, this is very disappointing. After my weekend post eulogising E H Shepard and his illustrations of Winnie the Pooh, someone has drawn my attention to a story about how much Shepard hated his drawings towards the end of his life and even referred to his creation as a ... shock horror gasp ... 'silly old bear'. Must admit that's almost worth the let-down. What a wonderfully pooh-ish thing to say!

There is no end.
There is no beginning.
There is only the infinite passion of life.

FEDERICO FELLINI

Interesting poll in yesterday's Observer newspaper of the most powerful people in British publishing here. I actually think the Richard and Judy woman deserves a place near the top - those are some good books she's picked, and varied, but is she really the most powerful person in British publishing today? There have been an awful lot of decisions made before she gets the books. I'd also love to know if those authors in the poll actually feel that powerful still when they're submitting their latest manuscript to the publishing houses.

OK, I'm obviously getting too cynical but things are getting tough here chez Salway in that I'm starting to have arguments with the page-a-day calendar I keep by my bed. Yesterday, I felt good all day and one of the reasons was Sunday's quote from Betty Friedan, 'I'm my age and I feel glorious.' It just made me want to laugh with how ridiculous the whole age thing was, but also the positivity of it all was silly enough to make me smile. Particularly as a friend of mine asked last week whether I'd take part in a feature in one of the Sunday newspapers. Although very flattered, I couldn't make it, but when I opened the paper yesterday, I found that the feature I should have been in was headlined 'Older and Wider.' A lucky escape. Today, however, I did what many men must dream about and woke up to the fabulous Mae West, 'Getting down to your last man must be as bad as getting down to your last dollar.' Why is the assumption always that we need men in our lives and can't survive without them? But more than that, there's a sense of using men somehow - both monetary and emotionally - that comes through these quotes. 'Humorist' Merill Markoe is quoted as saying 'THere is a definite correlation between a man's gift-giving and the longevity of a relationship.' God, I can feel another rant coming on, so now I'm off to search for my sense of humour - or another cup of coffee. Or maybe I'll just crawl back to bed!

My writing prompt for today comes from the first line of 'Infestation', from Catherine Smith's The Butcher's Hands and is, 'You hear them before you see or smell them-'

'Everyone who's worth anything begins life again somewhere between thirty-five and fifty - begins it destitute in some important respect.' Alice Duer Miller.

Winnie the Pooh and 100 Acre Wood

From my window I can just catch sight of Ashdown Forest which was the inspiration for A A Milne's 100 Acre wood in his Winnie the Pooh books

Luckily, it's curiously unspoilt, considering the books have now been disneyfied, and even the Poohsticks bridge - which really exists - has been kept low-key. In fact, apart from the village of Hartfield which has a Pooh gift-shop, about the only nod in Pooh's direction in the forest is this plaque which I walked past today - the view above is taken from this spot - apparently it was one of AA Milne's favourite spots to sit.

I like the fact that E H Shepard gets a mention too, because his illustrations are almost as important in making the stories come alive to kids.

And so my writing prompt for today is ... to write about a childhood teddy or favourite toy.

Writing prompt for today ... I wish I could say this was a love story, but ...

Something for the weekend.... OK, I should really have waited for April for this one, but it's a glorious Spring day here so enjoy this story, On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One April Morning, by a writing hero of mine, Haruki Murakami. Can't say where it came from because I stole the link from another forum (sorry), but his The Wind Up Bird Chronicle is one of the best and strangest books I've enjoyed in a long time. Definitely worth buying because if you're like me, you'll want to read it again.

I can't wait for the Oscars. There's something so inspiring about all that team work, even when it's individuals winning the gongs. I think that's what I miss most about being a writer - I love all the tittle-tattle and stupid jokes that go on when a group of people work together. So one of my missions for this year is to do something that involves working as a team, not just teaching. Anyway the full list is here.

So it's the third day of Lent, and I've kept my pledge to eat no sugar, so no biscuits. How can writers write without munching a constant supply of biscuits to keep them going? This one is struggling anyway, and fruit just doesn't do the trick. Instead I'm fantasising about them - squashed fly biscuits, chocolate bourbons, hobnobs. Oh yes... But perhaps not fantasising about them as much as the Chinese artist, Song Dong, who is creating a whole Asian city out of biscuits in London's Selfridges department store. I might just have to give it a visit. Have always fancied eating my way through a whole street... and that's going to be my writing prompt for today!

I'm very pleased to announce that the edition of Pulp that I've been 'looking after' is now up. It's been an amazing experience, not least to see how hard the real editor, Elaine, works to put it all together. One thing I'll take away is that when I've got a rejection from an editor saying 'Not right for us', I'm going to pay it a bit more attention. To be honest, there were many more stories received that I would have been proud to publish, but for various reasons - not least getting a mix - just didn't fit. However ... I really love the three stories I did pick. They're worth a read, and I'd love to hear comments if anyone's got them.

We found this lovely inscription on a park bench in Primrose Hill, London, last weekend when watching my daughter run in a cross country race. It sums up all I love about these memorials - they actually tell so much about a personality (in this case two!) in so few words. I can really picture these two men, with their view over London, discussing life and everything. A real exercise in character development!

To my mind, there's no better television than the first series of Little Britain and much of the humour came from the fact, it was all only one whisker away from possible truth. So imagine my delight, please, when I went to a pub in Sussex recently. While we were sitting there, in walked three respectable looking old men with a small dog. Nothing odd about that UNTIL the dog climbed up one of the men and sat on his head. None of the three men blinked. They just carried on talking as if nothing was happening. And then when the dog got bored, it just walked across the shoulders of the men to one of the others, and back again. And the barman kept serving, and everyone in the pub was treating it as a perfectly normal thing to happen....

And my writing prompt is ... a strange thing on your head.

"There is no perfect time to write. There's only now." --Barbara Kingsolver

It's a grey February day here, slightly drizzling and no sign of the sun which was popping out briefly yesterday, but being a writer to me is all about using my imagination, so today I'm going to keep watching this slideshow with sound, and join the Jain Festival in Southern India!

Something for the weekend?

Great story here from Justin Crouse. I came across it on the link for the Million Writers Internet story competition, that I followed from Myfanwy's blog. This is a worthwhile competition - do nominate your favourite story. Nothing to lose!

My writing prompt for this weekend ... running towards, running away.

Ay, ay, ay... how could I have forgotten Breaking the Waves from my list of top Seven films? I don't think I breathed once during the whole time I was in the cinema watching it, and even now, on DVD, it still has a powerful effect on me. There are bits I could do without - Emily Watson not blinking got on my nerves, and the end was just TOO sick-making - but these are petty things compared to how I felt that film in my whole body, and not just my mind. I think I went into shock. Perhaps it's what most of us actually think we want when we're so deeply in love - to be able to hurt ourselves for the other person just to prove we really care that much. (Luckily, that stage quickly passes over to wanting to hurt them for not making a cup of tea properly etc etc etc). Anyway, thanks to Debra for reminding me, by putting it on her list. Actually another thing I'd forgotten about Breaking the Waves was the sign in the foyer of the cinema in Edinburgh, which was that the handheld camera used in the filming could induce sea-sickness and if so, film-goers could claim their money back!

USEFUL WRITING DISTRACTIONS - Number Three
Changing the photograph on your desktop...


This is mine at the moment. It's taken from near the top of Cader Idris, which we climbed when we were in Wales last year. Some of us (well, ok all but me) swam in the lake, but we didn't camp there. Apparently, legend has it that if you spend the night out on the mountain, you're either a madman or a poet ....

And my writing prompt for today is ... liqueur chocolates

Hah! Patti and Jai have tagged me, so here is one set of my seven groups of seven answers. And a confession - I don't have seven friends who have blogs to pass this on to, so maybe that should be one of my things to do before I die? But no, there's so much else I want to do - that was the hardest one for me - so I'll put up with being the loner in the playground. Thanks, Jai and Patti - this was fun, and I've loved looking at your lists too!


7 Movies That I Love
1. Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistlestop Café
2. Nuts in May
3. Cabaret
4. Spirited Away
5. Spice Girls - the Movie
6. Mary Poppins
7. Nine and a half weeks


7 Things I Want To Accomplish Before I Die
1. Grow a beautiful vegetable garden
2. See my kids happy and fulfilled – and have them still want to spend time with me
3. Get a play produced professionally
4. Get my heels flat in Downward Dog pose in yoga
5. Write a book that really matters to people
6. Continue to love, and be loved
7. Live in Paris


7 Things I Often Say:
1. It’s not fair
2. You’re so beautiful
3. Yes
4. Jeeze
5. Sorry to rush you but ..
6. Well, just a bit of chocolate can’t hurt…
7. I’ll do it tomorrow


7 Things That Attract Me To My Partner:
1. The way he makes me laugh
2. His patience
3. Our kids – and the way we agree (mostly) on bringing them up
4. How I can depend on him
5. The strange things he gets cross about
6. The space he allows me
7. The fact after twenty years, I still want to spend time with because he interests me most


7 Things I Can't Do
1. Ice skate without falling over
2. Stop teasing my kids
3. Go on roller-coasters without feeling sick
4. Give up coffee
5. Do a headstand
6. Get really cross without crying – or stay cross
7. Enjoy fear

7 Books I Love
1. The Little White Horse, Elizabeth Goudge
2. Penguin Book of Greek Myths
3. A Writer’s Diary, Virginia Woolf
4. Forsaking All Others, Alice Duer Miller
5. Madame Bovary, Flaubert
6. All of Colette’s Books (I know, I know, I’m greedy!)
7. The Earth, Zola

We are just back from a short holiday to Stockholm, where it snowed so whitely and perfectly on the little cobbled streets, it was like being in one of those snowglobes you shake up. We drank hot chocolate in little cafes lit by candles, went ice skating (the couple skating in the photo above were dancing so beautifully and romantically it made me want to cry) and all of us fell in love with Swedish women, who don't seem to have been told that you need to be invisible and dull after the age of fifty. They were so funny and intelligent and ... well, just sexily alive.
The strange photo at the bottom is the view from the ground floor up the winding stairway of our hotel. It was right in the old town, and full of shipping oddities. Perhaps not surprising given that Stockholm consists of 14 islands, something I didn't know before going.

I read The Accidental by Ali Smith on holiday - a whole book, just like that, and with no theory. Bliss. I was breathless with how much she leaves out, and how much she could, because she trusts the reader. Also breathless at seeing a writer coming into her prime - can't wait to see what she does next.

And my writing prompt for today is ... an old photograph I've never seen.

Best Valentine's feast in town here. Thanks for letting me bring pudding!

And my writing prompt for today is: envy at the flower stall

There are many things to be cynical about, but food shouldn't be one of them. I'm ashamed, therefore, that I've just been looking through my writing to find something suitable for P A Moed's Valentine's Feast, and I can't find anything sensuous, or loving, or even tasty to share. So I'm going to have to steal crumbs from other people's tables this year, but make a promise to myself that this time next year, my cupboards are going to be over-filling with good things to eat.

But in the meantime, here's an extract from one of my favourite books of all time, Never Eat Your Heart Out by Judith Moore:

"As a child rolling out mud crusts I felt much as I feel now, wearing an apron in my kitchen--that making a pie I'm handmaiden to a miracle. I will begin, let's say, with pale green and ruby rhubarb stalks, sour red pie cherries, McIntosh apples, butter, sugar, flour, salt, and shortening. I peel the coarse strings off the outer blades of the rhubarb, pit cherries, peel and core apples. I spoon the raw fruit into the bottom pie shell, daub the fruit with chunks of butter, dribble sugar and strew flour, the latter for thickening. I sprinkle all this with no more cinnamon than will lightly freckle the fruit. I fold the second round of pie dough in half and gently lift it onto the heaped high fruit with the fold in the pie's center. One half of the pie's fruit, then, is covered. Last, ever so painstakingly, I unfold the top crust across the pie's other half and crimp the edges of the top and bottom crusts together. With a fork I prick the top crust in several places so that while the pie bakes steam can escape.

"A transformation that is almost sorcery begins when the pie is set on a middle rack in the heated oven. While I wash the bowl and knives and dust flour off the pastry board, the baking fruit's aroma begins to perfume the house. Thirty, forty minutes later, I open the oven door a few inches and peer in. The oven's radiating heat rises around the pie in indistinct waves, like the contours of a dream. The heat is insinuating itself into the pie's interior, creating between the sealed crusts its own steamy, primordial climate, a site (to use the French postman-philosopher Gaston Bachelard's translated-into-English words) of "thermal sympathy" and "calorific happiness," in which apple and rhubarb and cherry cell walls break down and sugar crystals alter and butter melts.

"Another half hour passes and I lean over, open the oven door. Heat rushes out onto my cheeks. What I take out from the oven (my hands protected by potholders) seems precisely like those childhood pies: born rather than made.

"If the weather's right I'll set the pie to cool on the windowsill. I have no trouble, all these years later, imagining that heat floats off the pie's browned crust out the window and sails in stylized whorls out into the courtyard and over the fence into the neighborhood. If I happen to be anxious, I may fear that the pie's aroma may tempt a distant wolf. The wolf will appear decidedly older, leaner, and more vicious than the wolves from my childhood.

"As a child with mud and as an adult with crust and apples, in the moment before the first cut is taken into a pie, I often have felt uncomfortable, as if I were about to violate a taboo. Someone has suggested to me that cutting into a pie is not all that different from cutting into a body. So I think it is good to make something of a ceremony of cutting a pie. The table can be laid with a pretty cloth and napkins and the best silver and your favorite plates.

"Once the pie is brought to the table, I like to take a moment to admire it. I like to give the pie a chance to wet the mouth with anticipation of its tastes (the mouth's imagination at work). I like to contemplate the lustrous lightly browned crust. I like to think one more time about inside and out. Because the moment the pie is cut, outside will have no more meaning. A new dimension, the dimension of this pie's delectable inferiority, opens up.

"Gathered around the table, those about to eat will say "Ahhh" and "Mmmmm, doesn't that look delicious." They will lean forward, noses alert. Sometimes you can hear them breathing in.

"The first bite rises toward the opening mouth. The sentinel nose having anticipated pie's arrival, a tide of saliva crests in the mouth, pools in the tongue's center, washes over the several thousand taste buds. The teeth bite through flaky, slightly salty crust and then into tart cherries and rhubarb and apple. The fruits' sweet and buttery juices, in a total immersion baptism of the mouth, flood tongue, teeth, cheeks. There is no more outside. Everything is in."

Oh, this book is beautiful. Do buy it, and enjoy rolling in the senses. Happy Valentine's Day!

One tried and tested route of teaching plot development is to get students to imagine the worst that could happen to their character, and then help them devise ways of getting out of it. Well, as possibly the clumsiest person on the planet - with the exception of my two kids so together we're a walking disaster zone - I offer hearty condolences to Nick Flynn who experienced my sweatiest nightmare earlier this month. Mr Flynn tripped on an undone shoelace, fell down a museum staircase and crashed into three priceless Qing vases, breaking them into smithereens. A small shard of the pain he must have felt was shared, however, by readers of the Guardian article about Mr Flynn's confession, as they had to put up with the headline: 'Taking it on the Qing'. I preferred the museum official's comment in the original press report which was that they were just thankful he was able to leave museum unharmed. Unharmed by whom, it doesn't say!

I went to school near the Fitzwilliam museum in Cambridge and used to be taken for numerous - oh so, so many - educational visits there, but reading the press coverage has made me realise how little I actually saw of it. I remember just three things - the chocolate cake sold in the cafe, a yellow plate used by one of the Chinese emporers which would change colour if the food was poisoned, and walking - not tripping - down the staircase. It's one of those Gone with the Wind circular ones, and we used to practice flouncing down in that elegant but haughty way teenage girls manage so gawkily. Still at least we did it better though than Nick Flynn.

And so, my writing prompt today is falling over.

My writing prompt today is to write about an object based on this quotation:

There is nothing that will not reveal its secrets if you love it enough.
- George Washington Carver

Two stories I've enjoyed recently are Ice by Joseph Young, and Not Guilty by Debra Broughton.

And my writing prompt for today is in honour of Joseph's story, and is the Chemistry of Water, the reason for the picture above which comes from the University of Arizona.

There's a very good reason why I don't share my dreams, and it has nothing to do with modesty. They really ARE boring, full of looming deadlines, reports and filing. The only celeb who has ever appeared was Paul Gascoigne (?!) and even then we looked at agendas together, before watching some football. Bit of a relief really when I woke up. Although once I did have a nice hairdo in my dream. Trouble was by the time I got to the hairdressers, I couldn't remember what it looked like.

What I do know though is that CDbaby is possibly the best place ever to buy music from. Thanks to Clare for the link. Not only can you listen to the music on your computer beforehand, get recommendations for whatever possible mood you might be in, and be given a good laugh with their order and delivery emails, I had the pleasure of receiving an email recently from one of the artists to thank me for buying her CD. Just imagine Robbie doing that. I had clicked on Stacy Jagger's CD without thinking too much, and then knew immediately this was music I wanted to listen to again and again. So it was really exciting for me, to see her name in my inbox. We've corresponded a little since, and she sent me an essay she'd written last night which proves that she is pretty perfect and talented. This is what I love most of all about the internet, when it turns into one big anarchic artists colony with the links between strangers going on and on.

And my writing prompt comes from the title of one of Stacy's songs - Take Me There.

Just have to share this quote. Best advice I've heard for a long time: “If you want your children to turn out well, spend twice as much time with them, and half as much money.”
—ABIGAIL VAN BUREN

USEFUL WRITING DISTRACTIONS - NUMBER THREE - TO-DO LISTS

If I tell you that I'm staring at a to-do list which contains, randomly: Wash Socks, Find trim for tiles, finish phd, commas - you'll probably be able to guage the chaos I'm currently living in! I need a certain space and order in which to write - mentally as well as physically, and writing to-do lists is something I turn to with a passion when I find my mind crammed with little voices telling me about all the important things I SHOULD be doing. Please note this is USEFUL writing distractions, not USELESS. I couldn't live without my lists!

One of my favourite teaching stories is Michele Roberts's Lists, which consists structurally of a woman's to-do lists in the run up to Christmas. From the expected - Order Turkey - we move to - Poison Husband - in that completely logical, although illogical, mix of great and small things that most of us put on our lists. This is something she captures perfectly, and adds another layer to the story as we are shown the movement in her heroine's mind. Plus the pleasure of ticking off the points. Oh, yes, that pleasure!

Another use of Christmas lists is in Maxine Hong Kingston's poem, which again catches the attempt to make order out of chaos. In the interview, she talks about the need 'not to get lost amongst the general uproar' in a way that resonates mightily. But as I'm writing this, one thing strikes me. I can't remember any such domestic list-making device in a male writer's work. Now, I wonder why that should be ....

Got a prizewinning short story? Apparently the organisers of the V S Pritchett Memorial Prize are 'enthusiastically' seeking entries, and the closing date has been put back a week.

Finally, I'm putting the commas and last references into my PhD thesis, and waiting for my viva date. I have to be honest and say I never thought I'd get here, so it's sods law I've only just come across a site which would have been a godsend over the last two years. It would have been a great comfort to have realised there were so many other people struggling to 'Phinish' their PhD too!!!!

The thesis is on the storied self - and how we automatically make narrative patterns to cover the chaos we feel when we're without a story that makes sense of our lives. It's been fascinating applying it to the writing process, and how difficult it is just to let go and see what happens. Freewriting helps in this, but there's something else too. And that's trust. I'm coming to the conclusion that writers have to be so open to everything. The best quote I've found, and it's so beautiful I typed it up to have by my desk, is this one from Richard Kearney's book, On Stories.

He wrote: 'The novelist becomes someone who discloses rather than imposes, who listens gently when the city quietens and sleeps, so that he might 'hear the ghosts of stories whispered.' And at such times, the storyteller feels himself in the presence of something greater than himself'.

It makes me realise how often my writing has gone wrong when I've tried to 'impose' the story - either in plot, or in a message I want to get across. I like the fact, implicit in this quote, that we don't always have to invent the wheel. I'm reading Zadie Smith's On Beauty at the moment, and I love the fact she's following the tradition and route carved by another writer. In my mind, it adds to the complexity and layers of the writing.

So... King Kong. Old version or new one? An epic film, I thought, although we could have done with less of the spiders.

Some great weekend reading newly put up on the British Council's New Writing website. I particularly enjoyed Helen Simpson's story and that wonderful description of a 'bluff new boyfriend'. Great word that, bluff. Somehow I imagine someone in the nude but all shiny!

A friend commented recently that I was obviously in touch with my inner-teenager these days (to which, of course, I replied 'you just don't understand me' and ran out of the room, slamming the door). But there are advantages. Over Christmas, my 19-year-old niece put some of her music on my ipod, including the wonderful Snow Patrol and since then I've been a woman obsessed. The songwriter, Gary Lightbody, is a poet, and is quoted as saying he never wants to write about the nice bits where the relationship starts, but the chaos at the end. Who hasn't identified at some time in their lives with the anquished end to the line, 'You've not heard a single word I have said... Oh my god!' Or indeed, 'I haven't made half the mistakes/that you've listed so far.'

Look at the words to Run for a better idea of what I mean. The lines above come from 'How to Be Dead'.

Which brings me to the song titles, and how often they don't seem to resemble in any way the song they're attached to. I keep listening to 'How To be Dead' in the hope I'll work out why it's called that. If you've an answer, please put me out of my misery. But my writing prompt for today is going to come from possibly the bizarrest song title ever: 'Get Balsamic Vinegar ... Quick You Fool'.

OK, gush over. I am aware that this is a case of skewed priorities to be writing about a band on a day that has been apparently declared: 'The International Day of Anger'. But I'm not the only one. On the radio news this morning, without a hint of irony, there was a report about how Prince Charles had addressed an audience of mutton lovers at a London hotel, saying it was a 'tragedy' that we didn't eat more mutton. A tragedy? Really? Perhaps it's time we reclaimed that word, particularly when looking more closely at what's going on in the world outside our comfortable lives.

I'm sorry but am I missing something? Apparently David Cameron has been voted one of the 100 sexiest men. There are days when I think I don't belong in the world. Or, at least, not everyone else's world.

Yesterday was a BIG day, the one when I seriously got stuck back into novel 3, tentatively called The Seduction Committee. This is very important to me, as it now turns out that - for mostly good and wholly understandable reasons - Tell Me Everything won't come out in the UK bookshops until Spring 2007. This feels even more strange considering I've seen the cover and edited the page-proofs, making the book very real to me, at least - a ghost baby, as it were. I'm also conscious of people giving me little sideways looks when they ask me about it, as if they're wondering whether I really have written the book or not. So just to prove it, here's a preview of a final draft of the cover blurb.

Tell Me Everything


She didn’t mean to tell the story, or have it end that way. She just got a little . . . carried away.

It has been several years since she confided in her teacher, and Molly Drayton is still feeling the aftershocks. But when a chance meeting with a stranger leads to an offer of a room in exchange for telling stories, Molly jumps at the chance. Slowly she builds a new eccentric family: Tim, her secretive boyfriend, who just might be a spy; Miranda, the lovelorn hair stylist; Liz, the lusty librarian; Mr. Roberts, landlord and listener; and his wife, Mrs. Roberts, who is that very wonderful thing, French.
Much to Molly’s surprise, she finds the stories she tells now are her key to creating a completely different life. Suddenly her future is full of possibilities. The trouble is, Molly’s not the only one telling tales.
Sarah Salway’s witty, finely-tuned, and poignant novel is an utterly entrancing chronicle of an unique coming-of-age, one that captures the imagination as it explores what we reveal to others, how honest we are with ourselves, and the consequences of trying to bridge fact and fiction.

I'd recommend all writers write a short blurb about their story or novel in progress. It's good to have to concentrate on what the main points are. When Tell Me Everything was just in draft stages, I read with Mil Millington in Newcastle and we were asked what our next books were about. Mil gave a concise and funny description that immediately made me want to read his, while I blurted and burbled on about someone telling dirty stories up a ladder to a man who may, or may not, be a pervert, and in the meantime there's this guy she meets in the park who may, or may not, be a spy. When I came to a standstill, both Mil and Clare (the Chair of the session) were staring at me bewildered, as were half of the audience. 'Never mind,' said Mil, 'I'm sure it will be very good.' Luckily, we all laughed then, otherwise I might have cried.

The time difference between writing and publishing books gives another problem apart from the limbo waiting period, and that's how you have to talk about books you finished literally years ago. Human nature being what it is, however, what you want to talk about is the one you're writing now. Hurrah for the internet then - I've just heard that a horror story that I finished just a week ago will be published in an ezine next month. More details later, for now I've hardly time to breathe.

It's my first horror - and thanks are due to M E Ellis who encouraged me through her own disturbed and worrying writing to go ahead and JUST DO IT! Shell's a great writer - has her first novel coming out as an e-book soon, and as I've never managed to read an email of hers without either laughing out loud, or crying, I can't wait to read the novel. She has a talent for picking words that cause a response in the reader - yep, making you feel sick is one of her responses too.

And my prompt comes from one that Shell gave me - which is to use the word Perchance in your text. Harder than I thought it would be!

Most of the blogs I've been enjoying recently have taken the form of confessions and shameful moments, so here's mine which is - and please don't all shout at me at once - I've never quite 'got' Richard Ford.

I've been told so often by writers I admire that he is their favourite writer, that I SHOULD get him, that his books are the ones they'd save from burning buidings, and I've tried. Oh, I've tried. But here's another shameful confession. I have always LOVED the interviews I've read of his. In terms of process, he's way up there at the top for me, so why couldn't I enjoy his fiction in the way other people so obviously could? In his Powells interview I found myself jotting down notes - how it takes three or four stories for him to get the 'shape' of the collection, that the themes other people see aren't that ones he does, that he prefers to read work that is 'stylized, highly contrived, full of artifice' but to write in as natural a way as possible. In his Identity Theory interview he comes across equally as honest and truth searching. I even like his photograph - how shameful is that!

So it was both a surprise and a relief recently to find, when I sat down to write a story that had been hiding in my head for months, that the inspiration came from a short story of Ford's, The Overreachers. I'm not copying it, and this isn't a confession of plagiarism, but I wanted to capture the mood of that hotel room, and the relationship, where everybody is pretending to be someone different from who they are and secretly scared that they're aiming too high. But there's something else Ford captures so beautifully as well, and that's the relief of being found out. Or the worse actually happening. I can't think of anyone writing about that secret desire so well.

It made me wonder all over again, whether I'd been trying too hard to 'get' Ford. At first, I was even annoyed to find that he had written the story I couldn't stop thinking about. OK - and here's the real shame - what if I was put off him by all the people telling me I HAD to like him? Could I really be that childish? I've concluded that yes, I can. There are some writers I want to be able to find for myself, because that makes them truly mine. But now I've stumbled across Richard Ford all by myself ... let me tell you this. You HAVE to read Richard Ford. You MUST save his books from burning buildings. Sooner or later, whether you like it or not, you will!

And my writing prompt comes loosely from Overreachers and is a wrong telephone number.

USEFUL WRITING DISTRACTIONS - NUMBER TWO - CHOOSING THE RIGHT MUSIC


This beautiful thing was my best Christmas present. It really is that small, it fits in my hand perfectly, and has wasted many hours of my time already. The version of the Nano I have takes 500 songs - I thought that would be masses but already I'm up to nearly 400, so I've been organising them into playlists.

My favourite list is the one of songs about writing and/or books. So far I have a measley six - but I'm sure there are many more to collect:

Every day I write the book - Elvis Costello
Mr Writer - Stereophonics
Paperback Writer - The Beatles
The Book I haven't read - Lambchop
Sonnet - The Verve
Lady Writer - Dire Straits.

Any other suggestions?

Finding music I can write to is always hard. When I was writing Something Beginning With, I had such a clear narratorial voice in my head, but because editing was some months after the initial writing burst, I found it hard to get back to that particular rhythm. I struggled and struggled, until by chance I started playing the music I'd been listening to fairly obsessively during the time I'd been writing the book, and voila - I was immediately back there in Verity's head. The music? Bryan Ferry singing old ballads. Don't ask.

There's a beautiful site I found which combines Japanese music and storytelling, and that's Elizabeth Falconer's work. Definitely worth visiting. I particularly love the concept of storytelling being about generosity, trust, sharing and determination, and the koto has such an extraordinary, evocative sound. I don't know Elizabeth, but she has her own blog that I've been reading and finding inspiration from. It's almost illegal, this feeling you get of knowing people through their random jottings on the internet. Like stalking.

And my writing prompt for today comes from one of the reviews on the site above and it is 'a feather-light touch'.

USEFUL WRITING DISTRACTIONS - NUMBER ONE - JOURNALS

Not writing them, that actually helps your writing (see Jane Urquhart's wonderful pages of architectural drawings and notes) but choosing the perfect one that's going to allow you to write best-sellers for ever.

There are certain criteria it has to fill for me. It has to fit my hand, to be tactile, to have lined pages, a ribbon (oh, a ribbon) bookmark, and best of all one of those elastic band thingys that go round so I can swack it satisfactorily when I've finished my notes. Most of all though - it can't be too pretty or expensive. That just freezes me.

There are shelves of journals now in bookshops (will there be a time when there are more blank books than published novels for sale? Now that would be frightening!) - and also on the internet, which have been giving me hours of non-writing pleasure. I keep clicking on the palmistry one. Will that tell my fortune as well?

My writing prompt comes from a news story over the weekend that teenagers are using the word 'book' instead of 'cool' nowadays because it's the first choice of the predictive text on their mobile phones. I love that.

A poem in progress... no prizes for guessing where the inspiration for this one came from!

FABULOUS BROADS

And they are. I can't stop looking.
One day soon, I'll walk over, zip
into a spare skin, pat the tight
leather gloss of it with my hard red
nails, water tight. I'll do the splits,
juggle flaming torches, walk right
up to the bar on my spiked heels,
order drinks I can't pronounce, fire
my throat and turn to him, ask
if his smile is for me, knowing it is,
and we'll leave, just a flounce of hair
instead of a backwards glance.
I'll know what to say, what to do,
and it WILL be fabulous. Apart, that is,
from those times I won't let him find
the zip, hoping he'll stop tapping, late
at night, trying to feel his way
past, looking too long. One day soon.

There are so many websites, books, even tutors like me, who are dishing out writing tips left, right and centre. Here's one that got me excited this morning though. Not that there are 50 things you can do - that's rather overwhelming - but I just can't stop thinking about number 17, which is the act of putting two strange things beside each other to make a story. The writer uses the seduction of Emma Bovary at an agricultural fair, as an example, and it makes me think of a writing prompt that proved so successful there was a whole book written about it. So I'm going to use that particular prompt for writing today, and it is ... a wedding cake in the middle of the road.

I have been thinking about getting older recently, not least because my friend Lynne gave me a Fabulous Broads calendar which I keep by my bed, and most of the quotes from it seems to be from - and about - older women. Not only that, I find I'm mentally saying them in a strange version of a Southern accent, starting and ending them with 'Honey', even though looking through that's never in any of the quotes. 'Honey, a salad is not a meal. It is a style, honey' (Fran Lebowitz). You get the picture.

There are many that make me laugh out loud, such as: 'If your house is really a mess and a stranger comes to the door, greet him with, 'Who could have done this? We have no enemies.' (Phyllis Diller). Others though make me smile and then feel bad, because the humour largely relies not just on being cruel to men, but on getting money or 'stuff' from them, and surely that's the antithesis of a fabulous woman? The women I want to admire aren't playing any kind of gender games. Honey, they just go out and buy diamonds for themselves, honey.

But then there are other quotes that bring me up short, and think 'yes, that's what I want to be like'. Here's one from Erica Jong: 'Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cyncial about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk everything, you risk even more.' It sums up everything I've been thinking recently - that it's actually more of a risk, and harder, to trust. Cynicism is just the easy way out. Ho hum. I do have a sense of humour, really.

But... just before I 'here endeth the lesson', here's a real lesson in how a fabulous broad takes responsibility for herself, and what she thinks. This is Sharon Olds's open letter explaining why she wouldn't be attending last year's National Book Festival, also courtesy of Lynne. Seamus Heaney defined a writing voice as knowing your stance in life, and putting this into your words. It's interesting thinking about that and reading this letter, because I just know the person who wrote it is the same one who has written the poems in 'The Unswept Room', for instance, and I can respect that in a writer more than any technical excellence. So I guess my definition of a Fabulous Broad is someone who will always have things 'worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for,' and Sharon Olds is my 'Broad of the day'.

And my writing prompt is from Mrs Dalloway, and is 'She stood her upright, dusted her frock, kissed her.'

The building site on the right is my writing room at the moment, so it's probably not hard to understand why I'm a bit obsessed at where other people write. My ideal is to have a hut in the garden, like George Bernard Shaw's which actually rotates so that it's always in the sun, but the closest I'm likely to get is one of the huts in the allotments above!
I fancy the skinny tall one.

I was interested though to find this article about communal writing rooms in New York, and was feeling envious about it being only in America writers could find such spaces, when I came across some in London's Soho Theatre. Definitely worth a look, although I'm guessing you wouldn't be able to leave things a mess there. I identified completely with the story about Angela Carter in the National Gallery's Interrupted Lives book. Apparently when a photographer went to take her picture at work, he was horrified to find she'd spent days clearing up beforehand. The photographer, Mike Laye, commented "My assistant and I set to, emptying the waste-paper bin and scattering the contents over the floor, then adding books and records that had been nicely racked, into piles on the floor! She was pretty shocked at what we had done to her once-tidy study but did confirm that we had returned it to pretty much its usual state!"

In the meantime, it's just me and the builders making messes on our own. Expect lots of stories about strong tea and mobile phone tones - have never heard so many different ones. It's almost beautiful.

And my writing prompt for today is the parrot that gave the game away. Strictly fictional, of course.

I am not sure whether it is a wise fable or a piece of surreal randomness, but I enjoyed Fernando Sorrentino's very short story, Essence and Attribute, this morning on the
Eastoftheweb site. This site is a useful pool of lots of classic and modern short stories too.
And, joy of joys, I found a site featuring poets reading their own work, including Elizabeth Bishop reading The Armadillo. Magic. Enjoy!
For my writing prompt this weekend, I'm going to use the photographs of Andy Goldsworthy's strange arch over a wall at Goodwood. I love the idea of something constructed to do nothing very much at all, except make you wonder!

Recently I drank a strange man's champagne from his fridge, ate his pasta and slept in his bed. And more than this, I've never even met him! Living in furnished rented accomodation is weird - I find I'm making up stories about my landlord from his choice of lamps, curtains, even - especially - pictures. I suppose the moral of this is never to rent your home out to a writer. I was excited though to find here a whole narrative being given to a sofa left in a skip. Makes me think about the stories we're making up everyday without even being aware of it.

I'm tired of shouting at British politicians on the radio who are sounding more and more alike, plus it's raining, so what better time to start my own revolution, to create my own world. I should be writing, but instead I'm going to spend some time planning who I want to run this. Kindness is going to be the most used word in our new language, people will be rewarded for their generosity to everyone, not just for talking louder than anyone else and/or bullying, and we'll all be allowed to progress at our own speed. In fact, we'll gain points for taking things a bit slower, and be rewarded by packs of glitter, coloured pens and sticky things. No, have not gone mad - I do know I'm sounding like I want everything to be a giant Liberty's department store, where my friend swears they put soporophic drugs in the potpourri so no one complains at how long it takes to buy anything (if you can afford it), and that's not reality, but, oh but. Good game here anyway.

The best book I've read on female utopia's is Herland by Charlotte Perkins Gilman - you can read it on the Project Gutenberg site for free.

And my mission for today is to learn how to do links in these posts, and my writing prompt comes from Carol Ann Duffy's TS Eliot Award Winning collection, Rapture - and is 'the answers I don't know by heart, yet'.

In London's Marylebone Road, there's one of the best chocolate shops in the world. Rococo. It's a tiny little jewel of a shop - almost like a boutique of the senses, and there are chocolates shaped like tiny vegetables, eggs, nipples, lips ... anything you can imagine. It's breath-takingly expensive, but even the packaging is beautiful, picturing blue and white fish, and boxes that you want to keep for special things. Trouble is I've just found out they have a website, and I've just been seduced, no other word for it, into ordering myself a box of their famous venus nipples. I'm going to use them as inspiration, I tell myself, for writing this erotic story I'm determined to finish this year. Wonder if I can write them off against tax! But all is not lost ... I'm going to confess on this great feature on the site, which asks for your chocolate confessions and awards a box of their best chocolates to the best one!
Watch this space...

Nothing better than finding something that makes you laugh AND makes you think, so here's my site of the week. Well, it makes a difference from my constant raving of 43things!

And my writing prompt for today is the first line of Jacqueline Rose's book on psychoanalysis and the modern world, ON NOT BEING ABLE TO SLEEP, and it is ...
Shame requires an audience.

A lovely start to the morning today - and a bit of synchronicity. I'm a great fan of the bookcrossing site where people all over the world are encouraged to swop books - www.bookcrossing.com - and it's been such an ambition to find one of these 'released' books, that I put it as one of my goals on 43things. Anyway, walking my dog in our local park, I noticed a book left lying on a bench and picked it up. There was a letter inside from a woman called Sue who was determined to prove her friend wrong when this friend said that all everyone cared about these days was getting more and more material things. Sue's new years resolution was to be more generous, and leaving the book was part of this! It made me laugh and when the park-keeper came up to chat, I told him about it. He was so pleased that it had happened in 'his' park that I gave the book to him. He texted Sue to say how nice she'd been, and although I only held the book in my hands for just a few minutes, I'm still smiling. It would be fantastic if the park could become an unofficial booksharing site, if people trying books they wouldn't normally pick up.

Another goal that keeps coming up on 43things is having a ride in a hot air balloon, and it makes me feel smug because I've done this! In Shropshire last year, we went out about 6 o'clock in the morning, when the land was just waking up. It was like floating, moving at a completely different pace. I've put some of the photographs up here.

And my writing prompt for today comes from one of the best books on writing I've found - If you Want to Write, by Brenda Ueland, and it's the heading from one of her chapters. 'Art is Infection'.

Live with intention.
Walk to the edge.
Listen hard.
Practice wellness.
Play with abandon.
Laugh.
Choose with no regret.
Continue to learn.
Apperciate your friends.
do what you love.
Live as if this is all there is.
- Mary Ann Radmacher

OK - I'm cheating because I stole that quote from someone's list at the wonderful http://www.43things.com site. I'm addicted to this at the moment - forget about the worthiness of resolutions, these ones make you laugh out loud, and cry, and just want 100 more years to live so you can do all these things!! Although I'm the only one at the moment wanting sto start my own asparagus bed which is a bit worrying. And there are thousands wanting to write a novel, which is possibly even more worrying.

My writing prompt for today is ... All the lights in the house are off except one.

Have been so involved with editing firstly Tell Me Everything, and more recently my PhD thesis, that I'm in danger of getting tired of words. It was good then to discover Martin Waugh's beautiful photographs of liquid sculpture - these include raindrops, drops in your cup of tea, dew ... anything. I've been looking at them for hours - just love the way they form perfect cups in themselves. Think it's probably against copyright to post one here, but the site is on http://www2.liquidsculpture.com - and is well worth a visit.
And another site a friend passed on to me is http://mydrobe.com. Never again can you say you have nothing to wear ... just post up the options and the events, and the public will choose the best option for you. So many possible stories here, and it reminds me of those little paper dolls we used to play with, which came with a selection of paper outfits that you just fitted on with tabs that never quite worked. Oh, but times were good then ...

And my writing prompt for today is ... 'The Pillow Book of ....'

Oops. The other blog I wanted to mention is Keris's on http://www.keris-stainton.com. Not only does this woman like handbags and Seth Cohen, she's very funny and a great writer.

The one advantage of the tension I feel between writing and teaching is that when the teaching is temporarily over - for holidays - I feel a burst of creativity and manage to get into the flow of writing. This Christmas holidays I've been hard at work finishing my phd thesis, which, I'm SO proud to say, I've just printed off for final reading. I've also been searching on the internet, and found other writing blogs, which have led to more websites, and more, and more. It's so inspiring to see how creative people are, but more than that, their generosity in sharing. I've followed leads to some fantastic stories, beautiful pictures, and fun. After this, I wasn't surprised to see a report in the paper that women are using the internet more than men. When I tracked back on what sites had impressed me, I was amazed to see most were created by women. I wonder why this is?

So here are some of the sites I've been loving ...

Ros Barber is a brilliant poet, author of the collection How Things Are on Thursday. She's currently writing a novel and keeps progress on http://shallowlands.blogspot.com

Clare Dudman is a funny and clever novelist, author of 99 Reasons and Wegener's Jigsaw. Her blog contains her writing progress and also interviews with other writers. http://keeperofthesnails.blogspot.com

I'm a bit worried I'm stalking Myfanwy, but I came across her work from the website Smokelong after I received a rejection email for one of my stories from the editor and forwarded it to a friend with the mature comment: 'Bum'. Yes, you've guessed, I in fact pressed reply and swore at the editor instead! She was surprised but gracious, and when I searched shamefaced through archives, I came across Myfanwy's work and looked at her website. It's brilliant and interesting, and I've spent far too long there following up Myfanwy's links. http://myfanwy.blogspot.com

Kay has been my friend since we were 11 and we've seen eachother through good times and bad. Less recently though, as she moved to Germany some time ago with her family. She'd be the last person to admit it, but she's one of the bravest and most accomplished people I know and I admire her so much for starting again in a new country, learning the language and becoming such a valuable part of the community. Her blogspot is on www.diaryofahousefrau.blogspot.com

And my writing prompt for yesterday was secrets. Today is the title of Paul Durcan's poetry collection: The Art of Life.

A lovely day yesterday with my brother and his family. We went for a walk across the fields and saw in the distance the windmill where Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was filmed, and drove through a nearby village which was where Cruella De Ville lived in 101 dalmations. Almost as exciting, we learnt the rules for Congestion Scrabble where you try and use as few letters as possible in as least space as possible. Can't wait to try that one out. The people in the village my brother lives in are so polite that when I saw some people standing on the doorstep of a house called 'Sarah's Cottage' I went up to them and said over-excitedly that my name was Sarah. 'How nice', they said a bit bemused until they realised I was linking it to the name of their house. They'd thought I'd just been introducing myself.

Today I was sitting in front of the fire today feeling so lethargic I could hardly move when I suddenly thought I didn't want to spend my New Year like this, so I went off to the allotment instead to sort out my raspberry canes. I've entered the heaviest marrow and pumpkin competition in the annual show so I also cleared some ground and spread good thoughts. Whether that's enough, time will tell.

And my writing prompt for today comes from Virginia Woolf's diaries and is a line from her entry of January 3rd, 1933 'This is a little out of place, but then so am I'.

I'm taking comfort from another entry of hers for Tuesday May 11th, 1920. She writes: 'It is worth mentioning, for future reference, that the creative power which bubbles so pleasantly in beginning a new book quiets down after a time, and one goes on more steadily. Doubts creep in. Then one becomes resigned. Determination not to give in, and the sense of an impending shape keep one at it more than anything. I'm a little anxious. How am I to bring off this conception. Directly one gets to work one is like a perosn walking, who has seen the country stretching out before. i want to write nothing in this book that I don't enjoy writing. And yet writing is always difficult.'

A site that makes me laugh every time I use it is http://www.thesurrealist.co.uk/sheep - the sheep shift around to make a different poem every time. Do give it a go.

A very happy new year..

and my writing prompt for the first day of 2006 comes from Razorlight: 'Looking for you in the city tonight'.

For the last day of the year...

.. what I'm looking forward to - the book I've written with the poet Lynne Rees (www.lynnerees.com)coming out in March from Bluechrome (www.bluechrome.co.uk). It's called Messages, and is 300 pieces of 300 words which we exchanged by email over a frenetic six month period. More about this later, but found a wonderful website Muse to Muse (www.musetomuse.com) about two women who also found their creativity in partnership.

... what I'm watching - Hoop Dreams, a dvd my son got for Christmas. I keep having to leave the room because I'm crying.

... what I'm reading - Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking, published by 4th estate.

... what I'm eating - everything in sight. Diet starts tomorrow.

My resolutions...

a) To write something every day
b) To canoe with my friend Sue
c) To make myself take a risk every week.
d) To learn how to do links on this.

My writing prompt - at the swimming pool today, there was a man dancing in the water with his little daughter. I thought how sweet until I saw the almost jealous expression on the face of his wife who was also watching, and I caught myself wondering what would happen if he asked her to dance like that tonight at a new years eve party.

Someone emailed me with these words they saw on a memorial bench overlooking the sea at West Wittering - 'Sit awhile, gaze at the sunset, listen to the sea, smile and remember me.' I love the direction to 'smile'; there's something so loving about a bench too.

And to celebrate being half-way through editing the page proofs of novel 2, Tell Me Everything, I've been thinking about the joys of doing things with my hands, not just my mind - so was very happy to come across this website about 52 (and more) creative projects you can carry out here which is full of inspiration. The Four Hundred word project mentioned in the blog can be found here and looks well worth reading.

It's been interesting coming back to Tell Me Everything. I finished writing it over six months ago now and because I'm absorbed in thinking about novel 3, the relationship with TME is more distanced and I can actually read it as a finished product rather than want to change it all the time. Not that I haven't been changing it. I think it will have to be dragged off me by the publishers because I just can't see how you can ever totally say you've done all you can on a creative piece of work. I read somewhere that we keep writing because we never quite manage to write the book we set out to originally. I think that's right.

And my prompt for the day is .... The sound of snow.

There's a new memorial bench in our local park that made me cry this afternoon. Don't know if it was the inscription 'Aright bubby it's all good', or the position over-looking the basketball court where my son and his friends play, or the age (21) of the boy, but I thought it should be recorded anyway.

A disadvantage of being a writer is how everyone always expects you to win word games or write witty comments in visitors books etc etc, and as I rarely can do either - going blank with the best of them - this is just to commemorate a famous Scrabble victory over my husband yesterday. Let me just repeat that score again - Sarah: 359, Francis: 223, cough, cough. I even managed a seven letter word - ok, ok, first one ever but still...

One of my resolutions for 2006 is to take a writing prompt for each day and write something, anything, from it. Today I'm starting early by working from a comment which comes from Toni Morrison's Beloved and is discussed in the book, Memory, Narrative, Identity by Nicola King - it's when Sethe warns her daughter Denver never to go back to where the tramatic event happened, because 'it's going to be always there waiting for you.' I find that idea of a place holding memories incredibly chilling and today's a good day to write a ghost story, or even a ghost poem.

I'm suffering from a terrible cold but what better time to be ill than this, with a fire going, films on the TV - hopefully there will be a St Trinians later, haven't looked yet - and new Christmas books to read. I got a good selection this year including On Beauty by Zadie Smith and a New Scientist book, Does Anything Eat Wasps? which consists of questions and answers from their Last Word Column. The latter is the sort of book you dip into, and find you're still reading an hour later. For instance, to the question 'Does your bum look smaller in black' - one of the answers given is that when female cast members of Star Trek use padding to 'increase their female allure', they always have to put on more padding when they're wearing darker clothes. So now you know.... If this cold continues, I will be the most knowledgeable person at any New Years Eve party, and the one you hope you won't be sitting next to!

Good story to read here on one of my favourite sites: - http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/MaggMiso.shtml

I'm very excited - have been asked to guest-edit an issue of the excellent pulp.net magazine around the issue of clothes. If anyone wants to submit anything, don't do it through me but here are the details...

3 Feb: the Clothes issue - Pulp Net, guest editor Sarah Salway
How people dress can be seen as a defence or an attack; a chance to show off or to blend in; to be colourful or neutral; to say who they are or to pretend to be someone different; for comfort or appearance; personal fashion or in-crowd identity.Stories wanted on all aspects of clothes and style to editor@pulp.net by February 3rd. Please send your story as an attachment to editor at pulp.net., with ‘FAO Sarah’ in subject header. Please provide your address & phone number in your email but NOT in the attachment, to facilitate contact if your story is selected. Submissions close 10am London time on 3 Feb. The fee is £100.

Or you can look up here for the guidelines etc.

Meanwhile, Christmas moves apace. My daughter has a new green and red brace, and I've got a new name. Trumpy naughty-elf. I wonder if I could be one of the elves on Scott Mills's excellent Radio 1 show. He's been phoning naughty children pretending to be Santa and telling them to behave if they want presents. Today's child had eaten all the chocolates on THREE advent calendars and closed all the doors so no-one could tell. You go girl. Anyway, if the mood takes you, you can find your own Christmas name on here

A poet is for life, not just for Christmas. Came across this 'adopt-a-poet' site on the internet - http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/204 - at last a present for that person who has everything!

Suddenly novel 2 is gearing up for action. I'm editing page proofs at the moment, and have just got a fab cover design from Bloomsbury. Very dark and will probably make small children cry, but I love it. I remember from Something Beginning With that this is a strange limbo time, when everything is gearing up for publication but nothing is actually happening (or on the outside anyway) - and because it all takes so long, I suspect some friends think the book is all a figment of my imagination anyway. What I have learnt from last time though is that life goes on just the same. There's a fantasy around becoming a published writer that is just that - a fantasy. I spent the launch day of SBW digging in chicken shit on my allotment and not one silver carriage turned up to take me anywhere. Will have to plan something equally practical for August 7th.

Meanwhile a celebrity has moved in to the house on the other side of the park from us. Even I have heard of him, so we're all very excited. Well, all the other middle-aged women around here are, anyway. I came back to tell the kids that he'd painted the walls of his sitting room magnolia. How do you know that? my son reasonably asked and I had to admit that a friend of mine had looked through the windows.

Had a Christmas shopping day in Harrods last week with my sister. It's a tradition which my mother started, so the first few years we met after her death felt forced and a bit sad, but now we both look forward to it. Neither of us are good shoppers so we're perfect company - we look a bit and then go and have a cup of tea, look a bit more and hey presto it's lunch time, a few more glances and time for another cup of tea. This year we met in the book dept which was a disaster as we both got heaps of books which we then had to lug round with us for the rest of the day. Still all the cups of tea were lovely. And Harrods is - even more than usual at Christmas time - a different world. In what other shop would you get an announcement telling you that the in-store ice rink was now open and in ten minutes there was going to be a demonstration by the English ice skating team? It was all a bit surreal. Have been put in charge of family cocktails and poker this Christmas. Not sure if this is a sign of great responsibility, or everyone has just given up on me, but managed to get some good cocktail sticks and lots of chocolate coins for the stakes.

Am starting to keep a record of inscriptions on park benches. There was one I saw this morning dedicated just to 'A special person'.

Looking at an old book on reading theory today, I have been involved in some reading theory of my own. One chapter is scribbled and underlined, not with my notes, but my son's. I can remember him doing it - after years of telling him never to write on his own books, he'd just discovered me making notes on mine - but what I couldn't remember is what it was he was writing. And then I got it. He'd crossed out many times any word he couldn't understand, he'd put circles round the name Woolf (and this was a chapter about Virigina Woolf so there were a lot of them) and by the side of any name he thought was funny, such as Arbuthnot, he'd drawn a star linked to the comment 'hahahah' in the margin.
I've got to say there are some theories I've been trying to work out recently that make his look positively useful.
And following this obvious academic bent in the family, my brother has just started researching as a - very - mature student in a university and is usefully filling in his times sending us links of websites featuring ugly babies and extraverts at the point of orgasm. The future of green agriculture is safe in his hands.

Not particularly proud of it, but there's something about handbags that makes my heart race. Not as much as some though. Found this wonderful handbag blog - http://www.purseblog.com/ - which makes me feel like a complete amateur. I love the fact that these women are actually watching films looking at what handbags the actresses are carrying and being able to identify most straight away. I don't think I've ever written about any of my characters' handbags. Obviously a trick missed.

One of the joys of having a teenage daughter is that early morning hunt for all the cosmetics and clothes she's borrowed from you. This is made even worse because somehow, in our rented house, she's bagged the bedroom with the en-suite shower. But this morning's search for my conditioner was put on pause when I spotted the collage of family photographs she'd made. In every single one of them, I'm eating. No one else, just me. Stuffing my red face in every beauty spot we've visited. I thought about throwing a CZJ hissy-fit but something stopped me, and that was the realisation that - come adulthood in a therapist's office - she'll obviously see me as an all-devouring mum anyway. So I left, leaving the conditioner too.
On Saturday I went to a poetry workshop on passion led by the beautiful Catherine Smith. All wonderful apart from that moment when I shut my eyes to think of objects of desire and saw, not Russell Crowe, surfers on Cornish beaches or even tanned feet in leather sandals, but the exact red I want to paint my kitchen walls.
So it's official. I've turned into a woman with wispy, unconditioned hair who takes paint samples and tap catalogues to bed. There are worse things in life, I suppose. Untanned feet in plastic smelly sandals?