High Speed

Writing again...

17,347 / 80,000 (20.0%)

Myspace

I've ventured into myspace. I hadn't really investigated exactly what myspace was. As far as I could tell it was the domain of teenage American girls and a rich hunting ground for internet predators.

How wrong I was.

For me it is a good tool to network with other writers, and a few readers. Agents, reviewers, publishers, they all have spots in myspace. I had no idea it was so vast. I'm diving right into the Mum&bubs groups, dispensing stories of green mucous and sleepless nights with those who truly appreciate them (instead of those who are bored rigid by my endless ramblings! Sorry all my friends without kids!!).

So far I have twelve friends. Twelve! Who'd have thought I was so popular!

http://www.myspace.com/caitlynnicholas

Am I Really Making Any Difference At All?

"It's not the Howard Government's fault in itself, I mean Mr Howard can't make it rain, I understand that," [Mr Rudd] said.

Ah, such wise words from the leader of the opposition.

Still, it is devastaing news that one of the largest rivers in Australia has run dry. They said they take 75% of the water from it every year. 75%. Well, it's not surprising that it ran dry. Cotton is farmed around the Murray, a crop that is one of the most water hungry known to man. WHY? why are they allowed to do it? Surely the Australian economy will not collapse if they forbid cotton farming on the Murray?

It's all so overwhelming this climate change stuff. Most of the time I sadly wonder what sort of world we shall be leaving to my children and their children. But I also get angry. It seems to me that there is a huge amount of pressure being put on everyday people to save water, be environmental, save energy, that sort of thing.

But, for example, they slip into their reports the fact that households only make up 10% of total energy consumed. Its not that I feel there should be less pressure on households to be frugal with natural resources, its just that I want to know what industry is doing to conserve the 90% of energy they are consuming. Maybe stuff is being done. But I know I'd feel so much more secure if we could see some evidence of the changes they are making.

sigh.

Banished from the Bedroom

Anyone who reads this blog regularly may have noticed that I get sick a lot. The kids bring something that involves sore throats and endless runny noses home, and after a week of them being up in the night and rushing off to the doctor, and sometimes the hospital, I go down like a ton of bricks.

It happened again. But this time I did things differently.

Instead of keeping on going (last time I was so ill I could barely stand up, but there I was, cooking dinner) I gave up. Removed myself from the family, down to the spare room, set myself up with eleven Mills&Boon's, and re arranged the furniture so I could see the TV, and there I have stayed. We've had take-away five times in the last ten days. But I don't care. The cleaners were due and you couldn't see the floor for toys, so instead of rushing about tidying up, I cancelled them. The cats ran out of cat food, they are temporarily eating dog food. Do. Not. Care.

And it's worked.

Hubby isn't sure who this reasonable, coherent, well-rested person is, but he kind of likes her and thinks he vaguely remembers her from when they first met. The kids have chilled out, thrilled to have a mum who is calm, enthusiastic and willing to spend an hour making playdough pizza, and so on. I just wish I'd figured this out earlier.

You have to look after yourself before you look after everyone else.

What happened to the archives...

I've had a clear out and got rid of all the guff from the last year of blogging! So the archives are looking a bit thin at the moment. When I get a chance I'll go through my backup version and put up a few of my favourite entries.

Ten reasons why I am an outstanding parent

1. When beanie-baby couldn't get the toy phone to work she said, "fuck it," and kicked it across the kitchen.
2. Six out of the ten Choice worst foods for kids were found in my cupboard/fridge.
3. When hubby opened the car door and beanie-baby had to walk around it to get in the car, she muttered, "oh fucking hell."
4. I am daily tempted to ram idiot drivers, usually with the children in the back of the car.
5. I do not feed my family organic meat or vegetables.
6. Numbergetti does cover all the major food groups (sugar, salt, fat and carbohydrate) and can be fed to children on a daily basis.
7. Colours and preservatives allow children to explore new sides to their personalities.
8. Eating the children's easter eggs after they have gone to bed is merely another example of my parental concern for their well-being.
9. If you want to listen to the radio and they want to listen to the sodding Banana-phone song for the billionth time, it is okay to tell them the cd is broken.
10. Bribery is merely another word for negotiation.

Should not be blogging.

Oh I uterly shoulnt be blogging today. "ve tonsilitus you see, and it is very paoinful, so I took all these painkillers and they were rather strong and now, well, I just feel rather hazy and content, ut can't type properly.

My mother will not be surprised. She always said it'd come to this.

On the upside hubby has taken the kids to the mall and has promised to come home with cake. I might consider living for cake.

sigh.

Sick

Sick, sick, sick. We are all sick at my house. Practically every form of virus or bacteria known to man, is currently lurking around here somewhere (okay well maybe not anthrax). Though I have considered painting a yellow cross on the door like they did during the plague.

Hubby has made himself scarce, citing busy at work. (Yeah right, you spend most of your day in the cafe downstairs). He reads this blog, usually to find out how his marriage is going! NOT VERY WELL TODAY MATE.

Not that I'm cross. Of course not. He has to work, and just because I'm sick, the kids are sick and more unbelievable than usual, and I am supposed to be at work and have about a thousand desperate students waiting for their scholarships which I should be dealing with, but instead am parked in the lounge, counting calmly to ten and think of reasons not to strangle the little darlings who won't bloody sleep er... where was I. Yes. He has to work, and he earns more than me and that's that really.

Anyway. So, I must apologise for not blogging much of late. Sick kids slow me down, but when I get sick as well I tend to grind to a complete halt, and the blog suffers. Though mostly because I'd just rant on and on about how foul I feel, and how I am persecuted by the entire medical profession who don't understand how sick I am, and don't understand I want PILLS, and refuse to prescribe a nanny and a housekeeper. I tell you if they were part of the medical benefits scheme I reckon the birth-rate would triple.

sigh.

Greetings Fellow Writers.

Wanted to say a big howdy to my fellow writers in Linda's author group. (Linda is my Samhain editor for the rest of you). We're a varied bunch it seems, Sci Fi, a bit of Urban fantasy and a touch of Romantic Suspense. I'm a romantic suspenser (suspender? hmm). Although as I endeavour to keep gory deaths out of my writing (how can anyone fall in love at a murder scene?), I think I'm light romantic suspense.

This is rather amusing.

Especially given the amount of chocolate I ate yesterday.

Happy Easter

It has been a long Easter Sunday here in the Nicholas household. The rug-rats were up at 5.30am. Bugalugs has had a cold and isn't sleeping well, which meant the rest of us had to be up as well. sigh. Luckily they're not clued in about the easter bunny so we managed to hold off the chocolate until after breakfast.

Then, despite the rain (yay rain), we went down to Brooklyn to look at the boats and do some serious puddle-jumping. Just as we got to the furthest point from the car, and I was wondering if I should have brought the Umbrellas, the heavens opened. We were all drenched. Even those of us who had been mature enough not to jump in puddles!

I am now contemplating my annual white chocolate lindt gold bunny. Do I start at the ears and work my way down, or the tail and work my way up? Awww, who cares!

It is amazing though, that somehow bunny shaped chocolate tastes so much yummier than plain bar shaped chocolate.

The kids have had a chocolate frenzy. I rather foolishly decided that I'd let them eat their fill, let them LEARN when to stop. Taking the eggs away from them just teaches them not to trust their own judgement. Ha, hahahahahaha. sigh.

Okay, so I've been reading all these psyco-babble books about kids, and they're getting to me! Needless to say, just as they both started looking really green around the gills we had to remove remaining eggs and hide in the fridge. You can imagine the scene that followed. Everybody crying, everybody running around hyperactive.

Well, they might not have learned anything (except mummy is a big mean chocolate stealing monster), but I have!

sigh.

Earth Hour

It's earth hour in forty minutes and we are having an ethical dilamma in the Nicholas household. You see it coincides with Top Gear.

I know.

Hubby is not coping well at all. You see if we record it then something electric is running, and we wanted to turn the whole house off at the box.

But I think it's going to be a case of stuff the planet, there's a show on cars on.

The irony is not lost on me.

sigh.

Scandinavian Easter

As you know I love a tradition, so with Easter nearly upon us I'm going into overdrive.

I had vast ambitions for Chocolate Simnel cakes, hot-cross-bun loaves - my buns always end up like small pieces of lead, but if I combine it all into one loaf, it is totally edible! Making eggs with the kids and whatnot.

But then I came across an article on Easter in Scandinavia. With the following list of culinary delights...

• a variety of herrings, including sild (raw herrings in a spicy sauce made from vinegar and onions);
  
• boiled eggs;
  
• fish dishes, such as smoked salmon with dill, and lutefisk (rehydrated dried salt cod);
  
• roast ham;
  
• Jansson's Temptation (sliced potatoes baked with anchovies and cream),
  
• and a selection of cheeses - all accompanied by white, rye and crisp bread, as well as beer and schnapps.

Mmmm. Herrings!

But seriously though. I can do smoked salmon, baked ham, baked potato and cheese.

And I'm planning some egg-dying with the kids!

Stew on the Floor.

When I was in China I ate Over the Bridge soup. It was a local Kunming speciality, you get a bowl of boiling broth, then add all this stuff (including quails eggs, noodles, thinly sliced meat), and then eat it. It was really good, amazing hangover/comfort food. An excellent cure for an evening spent downing baijiao and singing karaoke.

This evening we had a slightly less glamourous version. I've called it stew-on-the-floor.

I spent yesterday cooking a stew. Just a beef stew, it was a cold day, so I whacked the oven on low, and stuck it in for a few hours. It was duly declared done, allowed to cool and placed in a plastic container. All that remained was to transport it too the fridge.

I left this task to hubby.

I was just walking through the laundry when I heard a splat and quite a bit of muttered swearing (the kids were in bed or it would've been louder). And there was my stew, all over the kitchen floor.

After rolling around laughing for a while (minding the stew), and in my quest for being positive and (oh god) cheerful, I chose laughing over sobbing. I scraped it up, back into the container and into the fridge.

We just ate it.

Few bits of grit in mine, but otherwise fine.

Well I wasn't going to bloody waste it!

Best Intention

I've been editing the end of Best Intention again. I know, it's supposed to be finished, but I just wanted to give it a quick check over. I think I was having an overly picturesque day when I wrote the following!

Zani jerked awake with a gasp and sat up, scrabbling backwards until a soft padded bed-head stopped her. Her head swam nauseatingly, as if she’d been drinking Babycham and brandy, and her mouth felt drier than the Tigris River, downstream from a Turkish dam. She looked around wildly, the room was unfamiliar, large and predominantly pink.
Terrified, she tried to make herself as small as possible, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.
Nothing happened.
Her nose itched and she scratched it.

Speaking of Best Intention, I've finally found photos of what the hero and heroine look like.

This is actually Ellen MacArthur, possibly one of the coolest chicks on the planet. Not only a world class sailor, BUT ALSO the second fastest racing time in the Top Gear 'Star In A Reasonably Priced Car' challenge. Pretty awesome for someone who spends six months of the year at sea!

Oh and she got a dameship.

And here is my hero. Yes I am aware that this is love-rat Oliver Martinez, who so foully treated our Kyles. Possibly the most disliked fellow since Tom Cruise dumped our Nic.

Blogging for a Year!

I've been blogging for a year!

And what a year it has been. The sleep deprivation, the disasters, the victories, managing to get through Christmas, the writing, the moaning about dear Hubby. I've downloaded it all here. Mostly in the hope that my life, which generally amuses me, manages to amuse everyone else as well!

I'd like to thank all my faithful readers. You guys are the best! Especially those that email me with advice when I've done my back, or can't get the kidlets to sleep. Your thoughtfulness is so appreciated.

I hope you like the blog's new look. It's now the same as the rest of the Caitlyn Nicholas website. Though I've had a few teething problems, and in some browsers the margins are something of a moveable feast.

sigh.

Very very tired

I've had a hell night, so you're going to have to forgive me if I rattle on. Poor Miss Bugalugs had a temperature that was hitting 40 degrees and breathing very rapidly with it, so it was a late night run to Emergency to have chest x-rays and whatnot. We were discharged at around 1am, only to have to deal with a huge cockroach invading the bedroom, Beanie-baby having a tantrum and then the vomiting started arount 3am...

sigh.

But she's slept all day, and whilst the temp is still up its not drastic and she has started eating and drinking again. So we are on the mend.

Miss Beanie-baby has a new word, 'delicious'. She sipped some of my cold tea and said, "mmm delicious mummy!" Godlove'em.

Grand Prix Fever

I've got Grand Prix fever.

I spent yesterday afternoon watching the preliminary races and a documentary on Mercedes McLaren, and now, sadly, I'm watching the celebrity race. Alas, it's not very exciting, the commentator keeps shouting at them all to hurry up, and I have to say he has a point. No doubt they're all worried they'll end up like Red Simons last year, when he shot off in the lead, stacked the car on the first corner and ended up with whiplash.

I've been reading about and researching Formula One, since late last year for High Speed. I reserved the TV for watching sport two weeks ago, much to the consternation of my family, I've never voluntarily watched sport in my life. And now here I am, laptop fully charged and ready for taking notes, kids in bed having naps. (GO TO BLOODY SLEEP). Ahem, yes, napping, like angels. Hubby is suffering from role-reversal: has tidied the kitchen, is threatening a roast for dinner, and is looking forward to the Biggest Loser later tonight.

I've never taken much notice of Grand Prix before this, yes it seems to come and go, and of course we've all heard of Michael Schmacher. But really, meh! However with a bit of background reading into the politics behind it, the whole thing changes. What really hits you between the eyes is the sexism. They don't even bother to hide it, they're not even subtle. How Megan Gale and Layne Beachly manage to stand there and smile whilst even the interviewer makes annoying cliche comments about women drivers I don't know. I suppose they're used to it.

The other thing is the way the teams work the media to portray their drivers as absolute super-heros, and all the drivers ever talk about is the wonderfulness of their sponsors. McLaren is a classic example. Alonso thingamajig is being interviewed and he has said the word Vodaphone eight times in the last three minutes.

And I have to laugh at Bridgestone Tyres catchphrase... The must-have tyre for Formula One. Yes well, Michelin stopped making F1 tyres in 2005, so if they don't have Bridgestones, they don't have tyres!

sigh.

Procrastination...

I am supposed to be proofing the print copy of Running Scared. But it's BORING, I don't WANT to. So far, in avoiding this task I've managed to add about 2,000 words to High Speed, and decided to give Best Intention a read over - which entailed a great deal of printing off and putting in folders, but no actual reading. I've sorted out my recipe collection, found the bottle of special screen cleaning stuff and cleaned screens, mine tends to suffer from sticky fingers, and got an awesome amount of dust off the TV. Checked the weather radar, the weather in the UK, read the blogs of Miss Snark and Ally Blake, checked my web stats (still can't believe how many people bother to read my whitterings - I love you all!). SIGH. I'm going to have to start doing something soon.

I hate deadlines.

I know, cooking. I'll go and cook something!

Writing Drivel

Writers really do shape lives, and inspire imaginations. Writers help us imagine alternatives we might otherwise never have thought possible. They capture the stories of generations past to retell so our history isn't forgotten, and we can dream a better future-- in that way, writers really do change the world.

Clearly this editor from Absolute Write has not read the drivel I have just spewed onto the page as part of Chapter 4 of High Speed! Destined for the 'bits I cannot bear to delete' file, it nevertheless makes my word count look very sexy.

13,081 / 80,000 (16.4%)

A Cruel World.

Semester One has begun in ernest, campus is seething with students, and we've spotted the first wool scarf of the year. Given it was around thirty degrees at the time, we were impressed.

A fellow just wandered past my window, carrying two packets of 16 rolls of toilet paper and heading towards the bar. Hmmm. Either he has a scorching case of IBS, or somewhere is going to get toilet-papered in the near future. My money is on the poor DJ doing the Top 40 countdown this afternoon. Being a University, everything is drippingly alternative. 'Commercial' music, radio stations and so on are all viewed with the contempt that they undoubtedly deserve.I expect that student and his mates are going to protest the narrow-minded homogensiation of our music industry and importation of American culture, by tossing bog-roll at an easy target.

It's a cruel world.


High Speed...

11,023 / 80,000 (13.8%)

A boy who will go far...

Yesterday I met a lad who is going to go a long long way. The sort of person who, as you scan the list of Australia's richest, you see his name and mutter, "I knew him when he was young, and I'm not surprised."

There was a knock on our door, and after rushing about, checking t-shirt for stains and locating tracksuit pants, I opened it to find the little blonde cherub from next door. He is five.

"Would you like some of my toys?" he asked. Blinking innocently, and offering up a small wooden box, full of tatty odds and ends, various doll limbs and bits of string.
"Oh, well, are you sure you don't want to keep them?" I say.
"No, I want to give them to someone," he replies and my heart melts.
"Okay, well we would love to have them."
I fully intend to return them to his mother next time I see her.
"Great!" He says, losing the sad puppy expression. "That'll be $50."
Sigh.
I squat to his level. "I'm very sorry, but we can't afford $50 at the moment..."
He looks a little crestfallen at this, but rallies strongly. "That's okay, you can have them for $10."
"Er, um, er, we can't afford $10," I say, completely pathetically. Desperatly wondering how the hell I'm going to get out of this one. He isn't fooled. All grown-ups can afford $10 says his contemptuous expression. I feel small, very very small.
"Right, you can have this for fifty cents." He waves a headless doll at me.
Oh God.

At this point I am saved. His Dad pokes his head over the fence (I swear he'd been listening on the other side all along), and then comes and removes his protesting offspring.
"Twenty cents, just twenty cents..." he cries as he is hauled away by his father.

My children will never be like that!!

High Speed...

9,515 / 80,000 (11.9%)

Print Release Date - 17 July 2007

Samhain Publishing have just let me know that the print version of Running Scared will be released 17 July 2007. I also got the final print galley for the book, and am nervously going through it, praying I find any typos!

High Speed...

7,711 / 80,000 (9.6%)

My Antagonist

I just love it when it all starts to come together well. Heroine's shaping up nicely, hero is completely over-confident and heading for a fall and I've come up with my antagonist. He's Scottish, and goes by the name of Hamish McClod. Originally I'd imagined him as Sudanese and living in France, but then suddenly Hamish appeared. I think the Scottish have such capacity for evil!

Now I just have to decide what he is going to do to the heroine. Mwahahahaha!

5,676 / 80,000 (7.1%)

At What Point Do I Give Up?

Miss Snark is the best!

At what point does one simply give up? When does one say to oneself "I can't write, and I'm wasting my life doing so?"

Never.

Publication may be nice but it's not the only reward.

The very act of writing is its own reward. It teaches you (if you pay attention) how to see the world through different eyes; how to wield language skilfully; how to organize a persuasive presentation.

You recognize that writing is a creative art and brings you joy.

You recognize that doing something difficult over and over again, and trying your utmost to improve is a worthy endeavor even if you fall short of your goal.

You recognize that these moments of despair or frustration or fear are part of the process, and will make the achievement of your goal just that much sweeter.

Shrove Tuesday

It's shrove Tuesday. I have to admit that I forgot! But am beetling off to the supermarket to get the things I need for pancakes with lemon and white sugar, or butter and brown sugar - our own Shrove Tuesday tradition.

I was pottering about on the net, (and not writing about any of my heroines who are still all in trouble!) and came across the following...

Other old customs include the annual pancake grease at London's Westminster school (schoolboys fighting for pancakes in return for a monetary reward); Mischief Night (breaking into people's houses in disguise and demanding
pancakes); Lent Crocking or Lensharding (throwing old crockery at people's doors and asking for pancakes to be tossed back), and shroving - a visiting custom in which children sang or recited poetry in exchange for food or money. A popular shroving rhyme went like this:

'Knock, knock, the pan's hot
And we are coming a-shroving
For a piece of pancake
Or a piece of bacon
Or a piece of truckle cheese
Of your own making.'

Hmm, schoolboys fighting each other for money, breaking into peoples houses and demanding pancakes... very nice. I wonder if I should be trying a few of these traditions around my house.

The Weather Obsession - it is getting worse

I've mentioned before that I've got a bit of a weather thing. Love to check BOM, or SMH weather pages on a reasonably regular basis (and that means at least once a day), and if I've no joy there I have been known to head over to the Irish weather radar, where there is always a bit of rain action.

But it's getting worse. I've recently discovered two sites. I've Got Wind, which updates weather conditions in the Solent every three seconds (the Solent is the stretch of sea in between the English mainland and the Isle of Wight). Then there is the Lee-On-Solent webcam, which you can move around and even zoom in on seagulls sitting on channel markers in the sea - off southern England that is. Here's a snapshot of the weather right now!

Cooooool!

Valentine's Day

Pink, heart-shaped lamingtons. This was as romantic as I managed today. The small shouty members of the house enjoyed them immensely, and hubby was swept away by the thoughtful gesture. Okay, well he would have been if I'd taken them out of the paper bag I'm sure.

I was planning on making a pretty afternoon tea up, with heart-shaped tea-light candles and proper coffee. But then the man in the Dusk shop wouldn't stop talking to me, and I'm half deaf from this bloody cold so I couldn't hear anyway, and then I couldn't get the pram past an ugly display of fake roses, so I reversed out rapidly, tea-lightless. Then hubby arrived home and is as sick as me, and can't even taste coffee - so instant it was...

Sigh.

The endless stupid cold, is, well, endless (and stupid). I expect I might die tomorrow - oh no wait, I can't. I'm too busy. The cold is now ignoring cold and flu tablets. Typical. Only I'd end up with a sulky virus.

I blame the Scandinavians (you know who you are).

Another Review! Four Coffee Cups.

Hey, I just got one of those great emails that makes it worth logging on!

I've been reviewed again and Regina from Coffee Time Romance loved Running Scared.

She gave me four coffee cups. Which means "Outstanding Great Read - This is a very outstanding book you would like to keep to read again in the future." - That's quoted from their website!

Here's the link.

Date Bait

I'm going to prepare hubby a feast for Valentine's Day, we met on 15th February so it's a bit more significant for us than just being Valentine's Day. I've been trying to decide what to cook. I was just on the BBC Food website and found a great article on Date Bait (food that is 'seductive' yet easy to prepare). What amazes me is that the main course has both chilli and onion in it. Surely onion is not the best choice if an evening of seduction is on the cards? Hmm.

They've got an anti-Valentine's Day feast up as well, loads of spices, beans, curry and coleslaw. Actually I think it looks nicer than the seductive stuff - anyway after two kids who has the energy to be seduced!

sigh.

Sunburn

Foolish, foolish Hubby and I. We are generally troglodites, cave dwellers, remaining inside most of the time hunched over a glowing computer screen. On the weekend however, Nonna rescued us from the children and we went in search of some us time. To the seaside. Hatless and sunscreenless we thought we'd be fine sitting under trees, but didn't account for the reflection off the water.

So now we look like a pair of lobsters. Stripy lobsters as we got burnt worse on one side than the other. It's so embarrassing, especially with our English accents, as every thinks we're just off the plane! Not to mention the skin cancer people are doing all those horrible ads, so now we're completely paranoid.

We've learnt our lesson though, and have resolved to not go outside or even attempt to enjoy each other's company until Bugalugs has turned fifteen.

sigh.

What me-time isn't.

Me-time is not ...

1. Peeling vegetables whilst everyone watches Rubba-dubbas
2. A forty second shower
3. Driving to work with children in the back
4. Hiding in the bathroom
5. Hiding in the bedroom whilst hubby deals with irate children
6. Sneaking in a cup of tea during Postman Pat
7. Downloading bank details from the internet
8. Staring into space and worrying
9. Thinking up plot twists
10. Four minutes of walking to work listening to an iPod

So what is me-time?

Sitting in bed, with a cup of tea, completely undisturbed, and the whole house tidy and peaceful.

Yeah - it'll never happen!

I just want my life back!

I've been pottering along, getting stuck in the routine, life's not been too bad. Until this morning, when I cracked. It all started innocently enough when hubby left for work and all I had to do was get Beanie dressed and everyone in the car. It took half an hour, thus I was late and hit the traffic. Usually I manage to sneak in ten minutes of mummy radio before the clamouring for nursery rhymes starts from the back, not this morning, they were demanded as I was reversing out the drive. That meant nearly an hour of pop goes the sodding weasel.

So we arrive at Kindi, I'm already late, late, late, and everyone has taken off their shoes (to throw at mummy) and socks (to hide). Ten minutes to re-shoe, then carrying bags and children we finally get there. Of course my swipe card is at the bottom of my handbag - under a small but dirty pair of socks, a Macdonalds toy (don't judge me!) and a half eaten packet of Le Snacks (did you know that cheese in that stuff is a very effective glue - yes, just ask my iPod). So, juggle baby, drop bags, find swipe.

We make it as far as Beanies room before everyone fills up their nappies - it must be a bonding thing! I have to confess I did a drop and run with Beanie. I have no idea how I was going to juggle bags, baby and change toddler nappy. So I didn't. A happy surprise for the first carer who got within two feet of her.

Then time to change Bugalugs. Of course I'm really late, stressed and Miss Bugalugs is picking up the vibes. Puts on a tanty at the crucial nappy moment, and I spend next ten minutes changing her clothes and then disinfecting the change table.

Finally I get my four minutes of me time as I head off to the office. I whip out my iPod and get to listen to Mummmy music, scraping cheese off with my thumb nail as I go.

But suddenly I've had enough. I want my life back. Its been a horrible stressful morning, I'm exhausted and forty minutes late for work, and I just want it all to be easy for once. Four minutes of me time (eight in total for the day) is NOT enough.

Top Gear

Now I'm not a petrol-head. Cars - take em or leave em! (I won't mention of course I'm in the middle of writing a book about a female Formula One driver - but I didn't pick Formula One because I like cars, just because it's dominated by sexist wankers - yup, I'm sure you're stunned to hear it. Formula One is filled with misogynistic males, and I'm going to give them hell in my next novel!)

Ahem, anyway for an evening of bonding with your signifinant other (without the onerous task of getting nekkid) check out Top Gear at 7.30pm on SBS. It's a car show which reviews top of the range super cars, Aston-Martins, Ferraris, Lotus', Lambourgini. And they're damn sexy. Damn Sexy.

Back to Reality

Well after the excitement of last week it's back to reality in the Nicholas household. The pool is still leaking, the gutters need replacing, someone has left a smelly nappy in the bin, my christmas pile of dirt is turning into a cat toilet, and the dog needs a bath. Beds need to be washed, there is a suspicious sticky patch in the middle of the kitchen floor, Hairy Maclary is going around on the DVD for the thousandth time and I need to think of something for lunch and something for dinner.

Sigh.

But as weeks go, the last one wasn't too bad! Bushfires, book releases, rave reviews, Bugalugs first steps and a sucessful foray into potty training.

It's Official - Romance is good for you...

Women who read romance novels make love with their partners 74% more often than do non-readers (Psychology Today).

Nuff said really!

My First Review

Just when I thought I was starting to calm down a touch, I get my first review.

Jaymie at Fallen Angel Reviews has given me five angels (out of five)! It'll be up on their website tomorrow night.

Here's what she said...

My favourite line is the last one. Wheeeeee!

Julie Marchant is a woman who doesn’t play, her life is her job. She doesn’t take time for the little things in life, for her it’s all about getting ahead. Julie’s not unhappy; at least she doesn’t feel that she is; she’s just very determined. She thinks that as a woman in a man’s world, she has to be better, faster, and smarter, or they’ll eat her alive. Julie purchases gems from all over the world and because of that, the rich and famous seek her out for her opinion and expertise. It’s at a party thrown by one of these rich and famous people that she meets Mitchell Cartwright. After a night of all-consuming passion, Julie doesn’t hear from Mitch again and her life is never the same.

Mitch’s motto in life is “No Regrets”. So when he runs into Julie again, in a country far from their home, he’s not about to let her get away. He has a bit of guilt for walking out on her without a word, but he’s not going to dwell on that. Instead he intends to remind Julie of how good it was between them. With Laos falling into civil war, Julie and Mitch are trapped and must find a way home. What Mitch does know is that Julie is harboring a secret. Because of their past, she doesn’t trust him with the trouble she’s in. What will happen to their budding relationship if Mitch learns she’s deceived him is anyone’s guess.

Running Scared is an action-packed, thrill ride. From their whirlwind one-night stand to fleeing a country in civil war, Caitlyn Nicholas keeps readers guessing and clamoring for more. Julie is sophisticated, but very lonely. She’s dedicated and loyal, yet she doesn’t trust easily. Mitch is happy with his globe-trotting, bachelor life. He answers to no one and he prefers it that way. Both Mitch and Julie are set in their ways, so reading their power struggle is entertaining and sizzling. I really enjoyed reading Running Scared. The characters are great and the plot is exciting, I didn’t want to put it down. Ms. Nicholas has a way with words. Set in several different countries, the descriptions of customs, the scenery and the people just seem so real. Running Scared is a remarkable book and should not be missed.

What am I doing to celebrate - presently enjoying a tea cappuccino (because the tea vending machine hates me), and later taking a whirl around Woolies in search of nappies, eggs and mayonnaise.

Its a glamorous life.

I'm Published!!

Hurray! Running Scared went live at midday.

So how on earth did I get to this point?!!

Pregnant with Bugalugs, my second baby, I was exhausted, overwhelmed and depressed. My husband suggested I do some writing, a project just for me. So I set my self a goal, get to Chapter 3 and I can join Romance Australia, a couple of months later, I filled in my application form. So on to the next goal, finish the book and I can enter the Emerald writing competition. I nervously sent the book off, and didn't do too badly in the competition, and I got some great feedback.

After a rejection from Mills and Boon, just for fun I submitted the book to Samhain Publishing, not really thinking that it would get anywhere. After all it was my first attempt at writing and I fully expected to have a draw full of 'practice' manuscripts before I got anywhere. A week after sending it off I received a contract via email. I couldn't believe it!

Linda, my editor, and I have had a heavy year of editing. Running Scared needed a lot of work. I completely tossed out the first chapter and rewrote it, changed pages and pages of description into dialouge, and included several new characters. Linda patiently taught me all about commerical writing, passive voice, and how to punctuate.

And now here it is.

WOW!

On the verge of Publication

Calm reigns, weather eased, fire under control, hubby home and managed to not fall off roof when cleaning out gutters, kids asleep, pets fed.

Oh yes. And tomorrow I become published!

Cripes!

Slaving away, updating the website...

Bushfires Update

Diana and I are being Very Brave Indeed. At home with the kids, husbands unable to get to us as the roads are all closed, and news just through that the bushfire is heading west, towards us. When Beanie wakes from her nap I'm going to go and stress-out at her house!

The smoke has given me a headache, my throat is sore and my eyes are hurting. Ash is falling in the backyard, next-door is hosing down their house and everyone who is at home is quietly clearing leaves from gutters and peering anxiously at the choppers circling.

Bushfires

I am not good with bushfires. Not good at all. They make me edgy and tetchy and I hate the smoke and the sirens and the endless helicopters. I spend a lot of time staring out the window at the smoke, then worridly doing a lap of the house, only to come back to the window again. Its a pointless waste of time. The fire that is bothering me today is kilometres away and heading east into the National Park. We can't even smell smoke at the moment. But still I go, around the house, then stare out the window.

I think it's my inner drama queen. I hate to admit it, but if I was ever in a real disaster I'd be the one running around the periphery screaming. Of course I'd like to think that my Britishness would kick in, I'd get all stiff upper lippy and nobly sacrifice myself to rescue a puppy. But given that the very sight of the water dumping helicopter reduces me to a nervous wreck, I somehow doubt it.

Fire Weather

We've got fire weather. Forty degree heat and a horrible hot gale. Frankly it may as well be a blizzard for all that we can go outside. The lawn is burnt to a crisp, the liquid amber's leaves are drooping, and all the gum's are shedding their dead branches, mostly onto the part of our roof that is made of tin. Bang, BANG, clunk. Hubby is dying to go outside and play with the swimming pool. The new pump was installed on Friday, after two months with no pump and warm weather, the pool had turned into a primeval bog, seething with mosquito larve which seemed immune to blasts of chlorine. The filter has taken care of them now! Alas it is too hot to even stand on the pavers out there. I was hanging out the clothes, but had to come inside and do some blogging. Far far too hot.

I've been down to Hornsby this morning with Beanie in search of colouring-in books, things to paint and other distractions. We shall be having a cup-cake cooking extravaganza later on as well, and then once the garden is shaded, around 5pm, we'll go outside for a bit of splashing in the paddling pool. They're still predicting a late change, lordy I hope it hurries up.

sigh

My mate Wend.

Had an email from my mate Wend this morning. She's an awesome chick! Sometimes she masquarades as a mild mannered librarian, but the rest of the time she spends droving cattle through the high country. Yup. One day shelving books, the next organising hundreds of cows, a dozen dogs and several horses, oh and her husband.

Here's a bit of what she wrote.

After a dry beginning to the year we left Stuartfield with the cattle on Anzac day 2006 reaching Califat in late May and left again heading west in early June. We stayed on the road until the week of the wedding, weaving our way through the Junee, Temora, Young, Cootamundra and West Wyalong areas.

On the Monday following the wedding we started to slowly work our way towards home finally reaching Califat on 15th November. We carted water for the cattle almost the entire time we were away. Early in October we travelled over a stock route contaminated with dumped car batteries, we lost a few cattle and it was necessary to test all of the adult cattle in the mob for lead residue - we blood tested 734 cattle the day after we reached Califat - there is a cut off period for testing for lead residue - we had a day to spare. The $15,000 cost of testing has cleared all but a handful of the mob for sale, those testing positive will be with us for fourteen months.

A few days after testing the mountain cattle left for the trip through Kosiosko National Park and reached Stuartfield on 23rd December. During the bush trip I had a very pleasant 10 days working at the Tumut Shire Library although it meant a juggling act to move the cattle and feed those left at home.

Kinda makes our ongoing swimming pool troubles look a little small and pointless.

Awesome, awesome chick!

Just a reminder that Woolworths is donating all its profits to Drought Relief on 23rd January. Yes I know that they are part of the problem (paying the farmers nothing and charging us the earth), and its all a huge publicity stunt. But at least on that day they'll be doing the right thing.

Running Scared - its finished

Hurray. It's done and dusted! No more changes can be made. I've put the excerpt that will be listed on the Samhain website below. Just ten days to go before the electronic version is available online.

Still can't believe I wrote it!

Running Scared - excerpt

It was much busier outside than it had been earlier. Several other groups sat and chatted at the tables on the lawn. Mitch steered Julie toward a small table tucked away at the side of the lawn, and they sat looking out across the harbour.

The evening breeze had dropped and the still harbour reflected the lights of the city like a mirror.

“So, is that your usual brand of aftershave?” asked Julie. She was usually circumspect when asking personal questions, but the smell was overwhelming. It also broke the silence that was in danger of becoming awkward.

“Believe it or not, there’s a very good reason as to why I’m doused in the cheapest and nastiest of aftershaves. It’s Hope’s fault. She’s my five-year-old niece. It was my birthday last week and according to her mother she chose this for me herself. I couldn’t disappoint her, so I told her it was wonderful and promised to wear it to the ball.”

“But couldn’t you have just said you wore it or something?” Julie asked.

“I would never lie to a five-year-old,” he said in mock offence. “Anyway, I’m staying at my sister’s place, and Hope was helping me get ready. She put it on me herself.”

As Julie listened, she studied his broad, handsome face. His dark eyes glinted in the low light and his short, dirty blond hair fell across his forehead. As he talked and smiled, dimples put in an appearance, softening his high cheekbones and strong jaw.

“And that,” he concluded, “was how I came to be hiding in the shadows earlier. I was just trying to stay downwind of anyone else.”

The champagne sat forgotten on the table. The energy that flickered between them was more potent than any alcohol. Their conversation was casual, but their senses sparked, awareness flowed, unspoken and unacknowledged. They were so absorbed in each other that everything around them simply faded away.

After a while, Mitch reached out and casually twisted the fine hair that floated just behind her ear, gently around his finger. Julie had trouble concentrating. Heat flowered beneath her skin as the sensitive spot tickled and the sensation traveled relentlessly through her body.

Apparently relaxed, Mitch shifted, laid his warm hand along the back of her neck and began to very gently massage just below her ear. She shuddered delicately, unable to focus on anything but his touch. He seemed to ignore the tension between them and continued with his easy banter, chatting about inconsequential things. Julie couldn’t look away from him. There was a message in his eyes, a look of possessive desire that held her spellbound. She bit back a low moan as longing coursed through her.

Feeling Julie tremble slightly as he touched her, Mitch suppressed a victorious smile, confident the evening was destined to end in a very pleasant and satisfying manner. He ignored the slight qualm he felt, refusing to acknowledge the power of his attraction to her made him feel distinctly out of control. Mitch hated to be out of control, especially around women. Brought up in a life of affluence and privilege, he’d become vastly cynical about the type of women who were attracted to wealthy bachelors. He’d purposefully made his own way in the world, leaving his sister to follow his father into the family business. But this still didn’t deter some who saw the income from his trust fund and the fact that one day he’d be the heir to millions.

It was obvious Julie was no gold digger, but her apparently close association with the incredibly wealthy and corrupt Charles Tregaskis puzzled him. “Do you know Mr. Tregaskis well?” he asked, trying not to appear too curious about their relationship. Mitch had heard many things about Charles, none of them good.

She started, a wary expression on her face. “Charles and I have been friends for years,” she replied with a distinct edge in her voice. “Only friends,” she repeated, looking steadily at Mitch as if he ought to be getting the message to back off loud and clear.

He shifted in his seat, aware he’d touched a nerve and curious to see where it led. Julie sounded suspiciously defensive. “I’ve heard some odd rumours about your Mr. Tregaskis recently.” He pushed her just a little.

Julie’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said as she rose to make a polite departure.

“Don’t go,” said Mitch, catching her arm. “I’m sorry, I guess you know more about it than me. Anyway, I shouldn’t be passing on rumours.” He brought out his most charming and endearing smile.

“I’m quite aware of Charles’ womanising reputation,” she said archly, but made no move to leave.

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about that,” said Mitch, taken aback. “I just heard some investment scheme he ran was in trouble.”

“I don’t know anything about it.” She relaxed and sat beside him once more. “We never talk about his legal work. You know, the client-lawyer privilege thing.”

Nodding, Mitch let the matter drop. He had his own opinions about Charles Tregaskis and his dodgy business dealings, but apparently Julie was the wrong person to discuss them with.

Julie relaxed when Mitch stopped talking about Charles and began to flirt in earnest, flashing his heart-melting smile and entrancing her with his dark gaze. She was once again captivated, and he began a slow but precise seduction of her senses. A small strand of her hair had floated loose, and quite casually, he reached out and tucked it behind her ear. At his touch, the electricity hummed between them, her lips parted and desire burned. He caressed the back of her neck with his fingers, running his thumb down her throat to the top of her collarbone and back.

Julie shuddered as animal heat blossomed from the contact of his caress and flowed through her. He leant toward her and for the second time that evening she thought he was going to kiss her. He didn’t. Instead he dropped his hand to her hip, just barely touching her tight nipple as it skimmed past, sending an electric jolt through her. “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

Running Scared - Print Release Date: 17th April 2007

Here's an excerpt!

As she stood watching the lights glisten on the harbour and listening to the waves, a shiver crept up her spine. Julie had the oddest feeling that somebody watched her. Turning and rubbing the back of her neck self-consciously, she saw there was no one on the lawn behind her, and the only other activity nearby was the frantic clanging and hissing coming from the kitchen as the staff went into overdrive to prepare dinner for several hundred people. 

A strange smell tickled her nose. She frowned, trying to place it - sort of like men’s aftershave, or perhaps it was the disinfectant they used in the kitchen. Shaking off the feeling and refusing to think about the ghosts said to haunt the fort, she gazed at the thousands of sparkling lights which lit up the shores around the dark harbour. "Beautiful," she murmured to herself.

"Yes, isn’t it." A deep voice sounded from the depths of the shadows only a few meters away. Julie jumped and swore. She stepped back in alarm as a large figure loomed out of the darkness.

"I’m so sorry," the man said. "Did I startle you?" He reached forward and grabbed her elbow to steady her as she teetered backwards. As he did, the smell of cheap aftershave overwhelmed her. Confused, she looked up into the most handsome face and the most beautiful dark eyes she’d ever seen.

Instantly all thoughts of strange smells were forgotten. It could’ve been the adrenaline from her fright or the spark of electricity which pulsed through her from his touch, but in an instant, desire began to uncoil in the pit of her stomach. Trapped by his compelling gaze, she felt everything around her fade away and, though it was only for a moment, it lasted an eternity. In the void, her world shifted slightly on its axis. 

A crash and a stream of profanities from the kitchen broke the spell. Swiftly recovering her composure, Julie tried to cover her confusion. "No, no," she said politely. "I was miles away and simply not paying attention."

“You look like you could use a drink.” The stranger handed her a glass of champagne.

She took it automatically, then, realising she didn’t want it, balanced it on the battlement edge. 

“Do you usually lurk in dark corners scaring the pants off people then plying them with alcohol?” she asked, just a little crankily.

“Yes,” said the stranger seriously. “It’s a pastime of mine. I also enjoy dressing up in women’s clothes and stamp collecting.” He flashed a winning smile.

“Um, how nice for you.” Just then Julie really wasn’t in the mood for any smartarse men, no matter how witty they might think themselves.

“I was joking,” he clarified.

“Yes, I could see that.” Ignoring his charm Julie didn’t give him an inch.

“Do you often have problems like that?” he asked.

“Problems like what?” 

“Oh, you know, smitten youths, declarations of undying love.” He clutched a hand to his chest and assumed a look of such bucolic adoration that Julie almost smiled despite herself. 

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop,” she said, weakening.

“Well, neither is it polite to enact passionate love scenes in the vicinity of those who have determined to spend the evening pursuing their favourite pastime of lurking in shadows,” he pointed out.

“I would’ve thought those who lurk in shadows might well be awaiting such an eventuality,” countered Julie with some asperity.

“I am not that kind of lurker,” the stranger denied with such injured offence that Julie laughed.

“Ah, finally she smiles.” He said it quietly, intently. In a spilt second the light mood evaporated and the air between them crackled with awareness once more. Remembering where she was and firmly telling herself she ought to be inside schmoozing clients rather than hanging about outside with a self-confessed cross-dressing stamp collector, Julie ended the conversation.

"Please excuse me," she said, glancing over her shoulder towards the pavilion. "I should be back inside."

"Just a second," he said. "Before you go..." He leaned towards her and produced a large white handkerchief. She stiffened in alarm, convinced he was about to kiss her, but instead he gently wiped the handkerchief across her chin and handed it to her.

"You had lipstick on your chin," he said, grinning. Julie glanced at the handkerchief and in dismay realised the revolting Karl had smudged her lipstick. Feeling a warm flush creeping up her cheeks, she spun on her heel and hurried to find a mirror.

Running Scared Cover, the final version.

This is what it's going to look like!

Sneak Peek

I've just been sent a sneak peek of my cover for Running Scared.

Here 'tis!

Eleven Things I Hate

I've been pottering around other author websites, mostly to steal ideas for my website. It's nearly there incidentally - http://www.caitlynnicholas.com. Anyhoo, I digress. There seems to be a growing number of people who like to fill up slow days on their blogs/sites with pointless lists of their most favourite things. My Eleven most favourite songs, My eleven most favourite motivational quotes, my eleven most favourite low fat high fibre snacks.

Snoooore.

I mean, who cares. Who really cares whether or not they like Huey Lewis and the News. Not me.

But, in the spirit of following the throng I decided this blog would be vastly improved if I popped in a list. I don't think I've got the attention span to think of eleven things I like, however, when it comes to things I dont like, it's hard to stop at eleven.

1. Gardening shows - pointless, boring and pointless


2. Travel shows - boring, pointless and contain Katriona Rowntree, possibly the most pointless, vapid person on the fact of the planet.


3. Drivers who are enamored of thier Mazda 3 and like to go REALLY fast. To facilitate this they slow down to 30kms until the road ahead is clear and then FLOOR it. Get A Life.


4. Moths - gnashing their gnarly teeth, just waiting for a chance to sink them in.


5. Wind - in every form


6. Capsicums (see 5 above).


7. Pizza people who ignore instructions and slather 6 above all over supreme pizza. NO Capsicum, means Do Not Put Capsicum On The Pizza.


8. Annoying patronising men in hardware shops. "Does Madam know what Madam Wants?" Oh yes indeed, Madam wants you to bugger off and be facetious somewhere else.


9. The washing, the hoovering, the cooking, the cleaning, the nappy changing... Lets call it MY LIFE.


10. People who record the Top Gun soundtrack onto CD and put it in the car's DVD player Every Single Time I am going to get in the car. Thanks honey.

AND

11. Lightbulbs - yes, lightbulbs. If they're going to explode or do something spectacular then they wait until I turn them on. I hate them, but only cos they're all out to get me.

Sigh.

And that is just my list for this evening.

Shuddering to my very marrow.

Am beavering away on my next lot of edits. Have been banished to the shed. Hubby is sick and tired of having me planted on the couch, myopically staring at a laptop. So, now I am perched outside, laptop plugged into the power in the shed, sat on my office chair with my little table, next to the very green pool. It'd been quite nice if it wasn't for the mozzies, today they are targetting my upper arms.

Sigh.

I hope it doesn't rain. Actually that thought is blasphemy round here, what with the drought and all. I hope it does rain, but not on me.

I know I've mentioned the sexy bits in Running Scared before. Editing them makes me shudder to my very core. Don't ask me why, its just awkward dissecting such intense scenes. The worst today was having to deal with a typo that made musky read as musty. And no, I'm not going to put it in context!!

I've also just dealt with my most embarrassing grammatical error. My sentence originally read -
He almost laughed; there he was, in the middle of Laos, standing on a landmine with an erection.
With the cheery comment "This would read better if he stood with an erection on a landmine."

I mean really, how's a girl supposed to know that you have erections before you stand on landmines and not after!

Sigh!