Jet-Lagged Maths and Beachy FOMO...

Real life scenes
from my house

Hi there. You've caught me in a tizz. Because of rampant excitement, I've packed my suitcase, a full seven days before I go on holiday. This means I'm left wearing  - let's just call them - my more dishevelled clothes. I'm still trying to edit up a storm before I go, and I'm still tired from staying up till the early hours of Friday for T***p's mugshot. It's been all go.

No one will care a jot about this, but it's important to me. Ready? Cool. Because the truth is, I've posted this blog every Monday morning since the end of 2016. Religiously. I refuse to miss a week now. If I've managed it on Christmas morning and my birthday, I'm not going to be derailed by a little summer break. But it does mean that going away is tricky. I have to write something in advance and I need the ability to post, wherever I am. Normally, my few days in Wales or Scotland aren't spoilt by this. I can post the blog, link to it on my socials, and the rest of the Monday is my own. Easy. This time, however, it's trickier. There are flights and time differences to deal with. I need to make sure the blog is published after midnight on Monday UK time. Then I have to post it on my socials at 11am. (Disclaimer: It probably won't be 11am.) Those are the rules. That means getting up at an unnatural time, and counting on my fingers whilst battling jet lag. Tired maths is never good. 

So enjoy this blog. If you're reading it, it means I counted right, my tiredness didn't win, and I found a working WiFi connection. Hurrah for perseverance and endeavour! Hurrah for us all!

Writing News

I've got more young people reading my manuscript this week. How marvellous. This time, they're taking more of a 'sensitivity reader' approach; ensuring I'm not making any major gaffes in the way I'm depicting some of the characters' experiences. (This article explains more about that, if you're interested.) Being a middle-aged, white, cisgendered, straight(ish) woman, even with a gapingly open mind like my own (lolz) only goes so far. It's handy to get some other perspectives. 

The face I make when any
of the characters in And Just
Like That do anything.

Culture

Because I listen to the podcast, They Like To Watch, I heard a recommendation for Deadloch. It's an Australian murder mystery, but with a heavy dose of dark humour thrown in. It's great. Funny and gripping. Find it on Amazon Prime. Then, I've finished hate-watching And Just Like That. How did the Sex and the City characters go from being aspirational older-sister figures, in my twenties, to snobby, entitled, fuddy duddies, in my forties. I've despaired of every choice the writers have made. And yet, just like that, I've watched every single week. Sigh.

Broccoli, green beans,
 and coriander. 

Food and Drink

After reading an Ella Rusbridger recipe a few weeks ago, I've become obsessed with charring veggies. (I know. But there are way worse ways to spend your time.) Now, when I cook stirfry veg, I char it in soy and sesame oil for about 15 minutes. Just in the frying pan, but making sure I don't move the veg around. I put a lid on so the steam stops them properly burning, but they're just on the edge of being utterly fragged. That way, when they're eventually coated in the sauce (usually something comprising gochujang, honey, soy, and white wine vinegar) their burnished taste makes the whole thing soooooo much better. Trust me.

A communal cousin paddle

Out and About

I had an impromptu trip to the seaside last week. My siblings with kids were congregating at my parent's bit of coastline, so the little ones could have a communal cousin paddle. I saw a few photos on WhatsApp, got raging FOMO, so bombed down the A55 for a couple of hours. I missed the beach - the rain had kicked in by then - but the pot of tea in the cafe, and the ice cream on the drizzly front, was marvellous. 

Whatever you're doing, wherever you are, I hope you're having a good one. It's nearly September, gang. Time to get a new pencil case and check your uniform still fits.

Have a lovely week, folks 

I'd Wear a Mary Earps Shirt...

Golden Glove winner, Mary Earps.
Surely her shirt will be
 available now?

In theory, I'm not sporty nor a sport's fan. I've spent forty-five years avoiding participation of any activity requiring me to wear a 'kit' and tend to ignore the stuff on the telly as much as possible. But in reality, that's all bollocks. Because yesterday the Lionesses were runners-up in the World Cup, concluding an absolutely brilliant tournament. The early morning match times couldn't stop me. I was obsessed. And sure, yesterday was a highly stressful way to start a Sunday, but the edge-of-the-seat ninety minutes was thrilling. Now look, catch up with your sporty analyses elsewhere. I'm not the person to come to for that. But what I can do is remind you about representation. (Again? YEAH. AGAIN.) 

Sadly, we didn't make it to that
scoreline yesterday.

For little kids - girls or others - the Women's World Cup shows that people other than men can be exceptional and heroic. For older folks like myself, it shouts down the noisy misogynistic society into which we were born. Sexism is stupid. It makes the person being sexist, sound stupid. It proves that anyone telling a sexist joke, making a belittling comment, or teasing someone for 'crying/running/acting like a girl,' is a pointless waste of space. Their opinions count for nothing. Their input into the conversation is as useful as dead air. I mean, we all know that, right? It's just, I do still hear shite like that quite a bit. And not just from the guy that forwards the crappy sexist meme, or bores everyone in the pub. It can be women too.

Women my age have grown up in a society that has routinely given the achievements of men, a higher value than those of women. It's no wonder lots of us have unconscious bias around the issue, and continue to treat men and men's things as the default setting. The good news is, we don't need to pass it on. We can break the cycle. We can treat ourselves better than the way we've been taught is acceptable. Look at yesterday. An exceptional team of women, led by an unbelievably good manager, has set a brand new standard. For a fraction of the money and far less status than their male counterparts would receive, they dug deep, rose to the myriad challenges that the tournament threw up, and reached the final. The Lionesses know to ignore the sexists, just as we must. Tune it out, do what you love, and try your best. You may win or lose, but you'll always be proud of your efforts. What a brilliant lesson for all kids (and adults) to learn, regardless of sex and gender. 

A possible title. And a kitchen 
island full of notes.

Writing News

I am currently buzzing? Can you hear? Leeza McAuliffe 2 (working title - still mulling over options) has been edited by an actual editor. I'm full of the joys of the story once more. It's invigorating to have someone objectively read your writing. (Also terrifying, natch.) With just one or two comments, new ideas have burst into my head. Nothing life-shattering that'll change the basic plot, but enough for me to tweak and polish with a renewed burst of energy. It's been an exciting writing week.

A still from TikTok.
So profesh.

Culture

She's been on the TikToks again! Yes, in order to market the new book when it's time, I've been reminding the world about the first Leeza book. I still don't get TikTok but I think I like it. With barely any followers I've managed to get some likes and views. Now that I've more or less binned off Twitter (that's X to you) I need to up my game elsewhere. And in more traditional Culture News, the new series of Annika has started on Alibi and I love it. 

Food and Drink

I made a focaccia. Because, yum, but also because I have a glut of tomatoes from the garden. And as I only like tomatoes when they are cooked (or done like this) then I decided to stud the top of some olive-oily bread with as many as I could cram on. 

Out and About

When I wrote my first (unpublished) novel, I named the bar where my characters drank, Coriander. It's my favourite herb so I think I decided to honour it that way. I remembered this last week when I ate in Pesto. I'm a big fan of the restaurant, but I can't stand the sauce. Please keep your basil-based condiments to yourself.

Let's take it slowly, yeah. Coming down from the highs and the lows of the World Cup, that is. It's been a glorious few weeks of international football. We must remember the joy despite the disappointment. And now we get to look forward to the start of the new season. My Liverpool Women's season ticket is burning a hole in my pocket. (Well, the screen shot of my ticket is burning a hole in my Photos.) If you enjoyed the WC, look up your local team. That way, you don't have to wait four years for more class.

Have a lovely week, folks 

Dear Diary...

The summer holidays.
Nothing to do but pack a bag
and go hunting for a dead body.

Ahhh. The summer holidays. Can you smell the freedom? Are you overrun with free time? Are you living your best life? Nah, me neither. Obviously most people haven't had a mid-year, six-week break, since their school days. Indeed, I haven't experienced the thrill of breaking up since leaving my teaching job. But still. It's the summer holidays! The wide-open, sprawling days of possibility. Last term's a distant memory, and the first week of September is ages away. Anything's possible, the world's your oyster, you can lie in bed til noon. 

I was feeling vaguely nostalgic about this recently; about past summers and having all the free time. So much so that I did something I've never ever done before. Are you ready for this? Well let me tell you. I went into the loft and found my teenage diaries. I KNOW. 

You might be surprised to hear this is the first time I've done this. Since they were boxed up in 1999, when I moved into my first adult house, they've been stashed at the back of a variety of attics. The box has remained untouched. Every time I've moved, I've considered binning the thing, but something keeps me from making the leap. The box isn't just diaries - from 1989-1996. It's birthday cards, letters and notebooks too. Genuine historical sources. My memories, as they happened, recorded for posterity. They're my first regular writing efforts. It would be wrong to get rid of them, after all this time.

Sadly I can't find any evidence
of this. (The autobiography,
nor that it's 'ded good.''

Anyway, something made me take the plunge. I got into the attic, pulled out the Christmas decs, made my way through the burst airbeds and old suitcases, and found the box in question. I then spent a stomach churning hour reminding myself of my past.

Pity the teacher whose lunch
choice was recorded 
purely because I had a crush
on him for five minutes.

But who cares, when THE
ECONOMY IS IN TATTERS.

Well. It was certainly insightful. It became clear, almost immediately, that I was obsessed with boys. Happily my crushes lasted approximately four and a half days before being changed up for someone new. I included national news alongside mundane family stuff, and I was no fan of weekly church. But despite the cringe, it was actually fascinating. I had a clear voice. I was completely self-absorbed (an essential job requirement at thirteen) and I wrote about a wide variety of issues (Mostly. There was a lot of crush nonsense in there.)

The GCSE year. I actually got a
Dual Award Science C.
Definately

Three decades later, here I am writing Leeza McAuliffe stories - her thoughts and feelings in diary form. It's mad that until now, I've resisted the urge to mine my own diaries for ideas. But you know what? It was probably best. It meant I could find Leeza's voice without being hampered by my own. Whilst I've loosely based Leeza's diary on my own experiences (eldest in a big family, skint, book lover) I'm glad I didn't have my own entries in my head when I was working out what she wanted to say.

There was just one paragraph that I thought was quite Leeza-like. 

'A really funny nurse came in today in form period (no pun intended) and gave all the girls in our year a period talk. She must think we know nothing. Still, it was a good laugh and she gave us a free packet of Tampax so it wasn't a total waste of time.'

I liked how disparaging I was to the poor woman just doing her job. 'She must think we know nothing!' Honestly. I'm both cringing and proud of my thirteen-year-old confidence. 

I'm probably not going to make a habit of it. Reading my old diaries that is. It's always better to look forward than try to live in the past. Probably. Besides, when I was a teenager, I was so desperate not to be. I wanted control over my life. I wanted my own space, and to live by my own decisions and rules. Reading my teenage ramblings was a really lovely reminder that I've got exactly what I wanted. How brilliant is that?

Have a lovely week, folks.

The Letter of the Week is Z...

Teens from my childhood. 

Whether it’s my mate’s daughter that's referenced below in Writing News, or the teen series on Netflix I’m obsessed with, there's a Gen Z theme to this update. I hope that's OK? Yeah? Great. Let's do it.

There’s an obvious reason, of course. The book I’ve been writing for almost - checks notes - eighteen months, is about young people. It’s high school. It’s spin the bottle. It’s crushes. It makes sense that I’m trying to see things from a younger perspective. Perhaps it’s why I’m full of admiration for the young activists trying to stop new oil licenses. Or campaigners like Greta Thunburg, who've spent their teen years trying to make change. If I were a teenager today (and I'm mostly glad I'm not) I’d be desperate for someone to knock sense into the adults with power. I’d be frustrated with being expected to behave responsibly whilst having little autonomy of my own. I’d be hero-worshipping Lauren James, the 21 year-old striker who’s playing a blinder in Australia right now. 

Teens from my teens.

But hasn’t it always been like this? Maybe. Not sure. Perhaps every young generation plays out the same; it's just the surrounding context that changes. I had Thatcher, not Sunak. My teenage life was also thwarted by rules and expectations, just without the Internet. I hero worshipped popstars not sportswomen, but the feelings were the same. Perhaps this is what happens when you write Tween/YA fiction. You become far too reflective on aging and generation gaps. It's either that, or it’s the Dawson’s Creek binge I’m still doing. Hey ho. I'll stop overthinking and continue to be impressed by all the brilliant young people. As you were.

Thanks, David.

Writing News
The first scary bit is over. Another human has read Leeza McAuliffe 2 (working title). They’ve sat me down, looked me in the eye, and given me feedback. And Reader, I survived. Pheweeeee. You'll understand why I was scared. When I asked my friend’s 17-year-old daughter to give it a read and see what she thought, her mother warned me she’d be brutal. Happily, she was not. She was, however, constructive. I’ve now a deeper understanding of the words and phrases that were signalling this author’s middle-age as they came out in her tween protagonist’s diary. It also resulted in a lively discussion. What do today’s youths call kissing? When two horny people press their mouths together, I’d call it 'a snog'. Or when I was thirteen, it was ‘getting off with someone’. Neither of those phrases are acceptable in 2023. You live and learn.

 

Teens from my middle-age.

Culture News
I’m so happy. Not only am I loving the Women’s World Cup,  and chilling out with a few episodes of Schitt’s Creek on the daily, but the new series of Heartstopper has dropped. Woohooo! Heartstopper is special. A sweet and joyous Netflix series about two high school boys falling in love. It’s positive, life-affirming, and shows teen relationships - so often depicted in popular culture as heteronormative - from another perspective. It was also a huge help for my own writing. I’d written draft one of Leeza McAuliffe 2 when I saw the first Heartstopper series. I’d been worrying how to get Leeza in Year Seven to think about her feelings for others, without seeming too sexy or explicit. I couldn’t work out how it would look. (A damning indictment on my own experiences!) But then Heartstopper came along. Charlie's in Year Ten and Nick's in Year Eleven. They hold hands. They kiss. They go on a day trip to the beach. It’s all so lovely. That series gave me the nudge I needed to lean into the innocence of high school in my own writing. Yay. Anyway, whilst all that’s true, I’m just chuffed the new series is here. Shush now while I binge.
 

Food and Drink
I did my favourite kind of entertaining on Friday. I opened some packets and I arranged them artfully. It’s both easy AND impressive. Pinterest will have all the ideas you need under 'platters' but if you need more inspo for your low-effort/ high-reward endeavours, check out the photo. My honest opinion is you only really need the cheese and crackers. Everything else is superfluous.
 
Out and About
I’ve not been anywhere exciting. Boooo! But the good news is, my standard weekly routine gets me all over the place. I’m typing this sentence in Costa on Thursday. I had brunch with my Wednesday mates on – yep, you’ve guessed it – Wednesday. I posted the infamous air up bottle at the post office on Friday, and I saw Barbie again on Monday. My week was happily sporadic, with work squeezed in between the gaps. Not the most thrilling social life, but certainly not boring. That’s a pretty decent deal, I reckon. I'd have been more than happy with that when I was an angsty teen.
 
Have a lovely week, folks.