Can they be any more revolting???

Earlier on I notice that Ella... She's a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.

Had a jelly snake stuck in her fur...
Rather than ask questions - some things are best not to know - I went to get some scissors to snip it out.

But when I returned it was gone.

Miss Two and a Half was chewing.

"How does it taste?" I ask.
"Fluffy."

Long Weekend

In Australia we have a public holiday to commemorate all women who give birth. Its called Labour Day, and it meant that we all had a holiday on Monday. Some people claim this holiday is something to do with politics and unions and things. But yanno, I know what its really all about.

Anyhoo, what did it mean to me, this long weekend. And NO, I am not about to launch into yet another detailed description of both times I have given birth. I do that every year on each of the small screamies birthdays. No what this long weekend meant to me was three entire days in the company of my husband, his parents and my children.

And it rained.

Yup.

So you're going to understand why, as I sit here, I really just want to stare into space and ...

Sorry was staring into space.

Guest Blogging at the Deelicious Ms Dees

Am guest blogging over at the deelicious Jess Dees today.

Am being all posh and know it all (hiding my inner shy side that you guys get to see ALL the time). After a spot of googling have even made witty up to date references to the current financial crisis, so they think I'm extra clever over there. (sigh)

And here is the photo of the exploding pumpkin soup that I was so reluctant to put up on her blog. I'll share it with you guys cos, you know, we're mates, and good friends never laugh at other good friends misfortunes. Okay, well not to their faces.

Facebook has a lot to answer for. That is all I have to say. The subject is now closed (although I am still getting pumpkin out of the extractor fan in the ceiling and shall be for some time from the looks of it).

Shoes

Now I've blogged about shoes before.

You see, I don't get them. I just really don't.

I KNOW. I'm almost ashamed to admit it. They do nothing for me.

I do get why other women love them so much. Kind of. And I have days when I look at the mouldering pile at the bottom of my cupboard and promise myself that I'm going to become a shoe lover and have thousands all arranged in a custom made cupboard like Goldie Hawn in Overboard.

But then I see a pair like this and go all WTF again.

OMG OMG OMG

Well knock me down with a feather and call me Big Bird. Secret Intentions has made it onto the MyBookstoreandMore Bestseller list.

Yes. I confess I am rather excited.

So a jinormous thank you to everyone who has bought the book. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

And in other news I'm guest blogging over at the deelicious Jess Dee's blog tomorrow...

Secret Intentions - First Review

Angel at Samhain Cafe had this to say...

Another interesting and exciting read from Caitlyn, with a multilayered mystery and some sizzlin' lovin'.

Secret Intentions - OUT NOW!!!

Yee har! I'm a multi-published author! After a nervous wait last night... yes I have no idea why but I was so nervous I couldn't sleep... Secret Intentions is now published in its e-version.

You can get it from...
http://www.mybookstoreandmore.com

Curious?

Here is an excerpt of the first few pages...

Sheltering in the lee of the bell tower, Zani Best stared up at the imposing façade of Edes House and wondered whether suicide would be an easier option than going inside. It probably would, if she chose a painless, non-messy version. A bus roared past, charging up North Street toward the Market Cross. She almost managed a smile at the irony.
Cyanide, perhaps? Strychnine? She glanced around at the grey council chambers across the road and the huge cathedral that loomed behind her. Little chance of finding cyanide around here.
A movement in the shadowy cathedral porch made her hesitate and look more closely. She peered toward it, shivering a little, trying to make out the dark figure she thought she’d seen. The light rain had misted her glasses, and she pulled them off, squinting uneasily as she polished them dry on a corner of her scarf. The porch was empty when she put them back on. Must have been the ghost.
The wind gusted, and a cold drip from the roof of the bell tower landed on her head. She couldn’t stand there forever. She had a choice: Go inside, face Corbin de Villiers, lie, spy, do everything required to find out if he’d begun to stealthily orchestrate a management buyout. Or she could leave, go back to her own warm, safe office at the marina and seal her father’s fate.
She looked up at the building again. Her father’s words echoed in her mind: “Please, Zani, I could lose everything. We need you, darling.”
A tight ball of guilt lodged in her throat. She didn’t have a choice at all. She never had. Suddenly impatient, she hurried into the building.

“Just go on up, two flights of stairs then first door to your right.” Sunberri’s cheery receptionist pointed the way. “He’s expecting you. Don’t take the lift, it’ll be hours.” She was a local girl with a soft Sussex accent. Hours sounded like “aaahs”. “Good luck,” she added with a grin.
Zani climbed the stairs slowly. Her legs felt like lead. Each step took her closer to Corbin de Villiers. Closer to the man who could ruin her family. Anger at his transparent greed warred with fear. What if he succeeded? She couldn’t bear to think about it.
“Hello,” she called, and cleared her throat peering anxiously into the empty office, then took a couple of hesitant steps through the door.
Papers rustled and there was movement through a doorway on the opposite side of the room.
“You’re nearly four hours late.” He strode in frowning. “And then you go and waste even more time hanging about outside.”
“What?” stuttered Zani. “I’m sorry, I…” She scrambled to come up with an apology, twisting the end of her scarf around her fingers. The truth, that she’d been hiding in her own office at the marina until guilt and emotional blackmail from her father drove her to reluctantly drag herself to the Sunberri office in Chichester, would not help in this situation.
“Still, I suppose you’re here now, and that’s better than nothing,” he continued. “Do you think you’ll be as useless as the last temp I had?”
Zani knew one thing for sure. She’d make the last temp, no matter how woeful, look like an administration angel.
“Only if she spat in your coffee,” she said.
She tried not to enjoy the startled silence.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, only if she spat in your coffee. It was a joke.”
She’d seen a couple of blurry photos of Corbin de Villiers in the local papers, but they hadn’t done justice to the black smudges under his eyes and his grey face. He looked dreadful.
“I don’t appreciate your sense of humour,” he snapped.
Zani unwound her fingers from her scarf and settled her bag more firmly on her shoulder.
“That’s probably because you’ve got a cold.” She smiled sweetly.
“Somehow I doubt that, and I’m not sick.”
“You look sick. Your eyes are all bloodshot and your nose is red,” she said with some satisfaction. It wasn’t every day you got to tell local most-eligible-bachelor he looked awful. Though, despite his cold, his wavy chocolate hair and crystal blue eyes made an enticing combination. She’d imagined him to be shorter, more evil looking, with piggy greedy eyes or a cunning squint. “You should take something for it.”
His scowl became even more forbidding, and there was another silence, this one not quite as enjoyable as the last.
“Look. Here.” She dug about in her handbag and produced a crumpled foil packet of painkillers. “Take two of these, they’ll make you feel better.”
His frown didn’t budge. “Thank you but no, I don’t believe in drugs. When I’m sick I believe in letting my immune system fight the infection.”
“What, your body’s a temple, is it?” she asked, snorting in amusement at the thought.
“Which agency did you say you came from?” He asked the question mildly, though the threat was crystal clear.
Zani twisted her fingers in her scarf again. She hadn’t come from an agency. Her brother Paul, Sunberri’s Chief Financial Officer, had hurried her into the role, telling the head of Human Resources she was his stockbroker’s niece. Obviously nobody had mentioned it to Corbin de Villiers.
She hesitated, the carefully rehearsed explanations fading as she realised how ridiculous they were going to sound. Stockbroker’s niece? What had Paul been thinking?
De Villiers’s gaze dropped to her hands and the twisted scarf.
“Is this my desk?” She pointed with the end of her scarf and strode past him in a brusque, businesslike way.
“Yes, but—”
Zani glanced around quickly enough to see him examining the ceiling with an expression of pure exasperation. He muttered something that sounded distinctly uncomplimentary and shook his head slightly. “You haven’t told me your name yet,” he said and followed her across the room. She moved quickly around the desk, wanting to keep it between them, as if it’d provide some protection.
“Oh Zaniah, er, Chis…um, Chiswick, but everyone calls me Zani.”
The lie came more easily than she’d thought. Chiswick had been her mother’s maiden name, and to say it aloud was almost a comfort. Almost. Corbin de Villiers watched her expectantly, and she wondered if she should hold out her hand, shake his, but then baulked at the thought of touching him. Touching tended to be something she avoided, especially when bad-tempered, virus-ridden company CEOs were involved.
“Zani, then. My name is Corbin le Joli de Villiers de Saint Marc. I shorten it to de Villiers, but you can call me Corbin. This is your desk, Zani.” He gestured toward it with a faintly mocking smile. “Please, take a seat.”

New Banner Ad for Secret Intentions - How Cool???

Better Now

Well thank the lawd for anti-biotics. The purple, pus-encrusted goobs of flesh that were my tonsils, I am happy to report, are more or less back to normal.

What? What was that? Too Much Information you say? Aah yes. My speciality.

Just wait until I stop being shy and start sharing about awesome spots I've squeezed... hey I could take photos as well...

Well, it'd beat telling you all what I've got playing on my iPod. (Snooore - and I don't mean snoore because my taste in music is boring, just that I never have any idea about what songs people are talking about when they write that sort of thing on their blogs. If it wasn't a hit in the 80s or currently being played on the radio then I have NO idea).

And yes, I did download a-ha from iTunes last week. I dearly wanted to lose my virginity to Morten at the age of 14 and nothing has changed since then. NOTHING.



I love you Morten.

Crock Pots

I am goddamn stupid bloody sick again. I know. Its starting to get really embarrassing. So embarrassing that I'm keeping it a secret. Okay, maybe telling the entire internet is not exactly how one goes about keeping things secret, I do take your point on that. However, I know you guys wouldn't tell a soul. My secret is safe. Yes?

Anyhoo. I was supposed to go out last night with the girls. Couldn't due to soaring temperature and rapidly deteriorating temprement. Am most extremely cranky about this. It'd be what... two months since I got to go out to a place that doesn't knowingly allow any under 18s. Then I have to cancel.

So, instead of blogging about the rollicking good time I had and bemoaning my seedy hangover. I am going to chat about tidying the pantry and my new slow cooker.

Yes.

I don't see why if I am to miss out on a good time you all shouldn't be punished as well.

Look at it this way. Am currently editing Drive Me To Distraction. Trying to make it so that the punctuation actually follows the rules set out by... Actually that's a point. Who did set out the rules for grammer? Well, that's another blog post. But what I'm trying to say is that I could be rambling on about comma splices, passive voice and run on scentences. So consider yourselves lucky it's just kitchen gadgets and an oversupply of baked beans.

So here is my pantry....

Oh KIDDING. That is Chris Jordan's pantry http://www.notesfromthetrenches.com/. Yes, it makes me want to lick the screen as well.

This is my pantry.

And this.









What am I going to do with all those plastic bags? Err, yes I do use my nifty green bags, but um, sometimes I forget. Okay, more than sometimes. Possibly frequently. Yes, the Entire Environmental Crisis is due to me. Sorry about that. The guilt is a burden I shall carry always.

The four visible cans of tomatos are just the tip of the iceberg. Tucked away at the back I have enough stockpiled to see us through the current financial crisis and into the next one.

Hubby has promised to spend the afternoon clearing it out and making it orderly. (Yeah right).

And this is my new slow cooker, or crock pot. It does plug into the electricity, I just had to photograph it sitting on the hob because the rest of the kitchen bench tops are a foot deep in clutter. And no I am not photographing that as I am trying to maintain the myth that I am a total and utter neat freak.

I love it. Today is going to be 32 degrees (that's 89.6 in American) and I'm still planning on using it.

K, am going back to bed now.

Intrigue at the House of Nicholas

Yes. We have a mystery.

At 5.31pm on Monday 15 September a dull thud echoed through the House of Nicholas followed my much muttered swearing. Upon investigation the following crime scene was found.

There are five suspects. Each has a watertight alibi.

Miss Bugalugs: Under table, feeding playdough to dog.
Miss Beaniebaby: In garden, burying toys in Sandpit.
Ella The Dog: Eating playdough.
Pepper The Cat: Miaowing pathetically outside the kitchen window.
Hubby: "I didn't do it. I SAID I didn't do it. Now go away. I'm cooking."

Alas, the camera never lies.

A Question of Trust

Have just started reading the wonderful Jess Dee's latest release. Its called A Question of Trust and its HOT.

Really hot.

Watermelon

Yes, watermelon, that would be the shade of my face earlier on today. Have been to the gym, for a fitness test. Managed to do 17 pushups in 60 seconds - who knew! Lugging the small but dense screamies about the place must have given me more upper body strength that originally assumed.

Still, it was around about push-up 16 that I got a weird tearing sensation across the front of my chest.

Yes, I thought I was having a heart-attack as well. At that point I wouldn't have minded much because I would've got to lie down and not move.

But, thankfully, nothing so dramatic. Have managed to pull all the muscles in my left arm and across my chest. So it really hurts when I hang out the washing. I KNOW. Have resigned from all washing hanging duties in order to look after my health and spend more time with my family. SEE. I could've been a sportstar. I can talk in nothing but cliches.

Yes, 36 years old, 10kgs overweight and I harbour fantasies about being an elite athlete.

Who said I wasn't an optimist?

Waxing Lyrical

Came across a great blog on literary tattoos. http://www.contrariwise.org/

Its about people who've tattooed themselves with literary quotes and why they did it. This one resonated with me the most....

"I shall not live in vain."

The poem it comes from is called Not In Vain, by Emily Dickinson.

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain:
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

Love it. Love it. Love it.

Round up of the Conference

So, Saturday. I had my pitch to Cindy Hwang of Berkeley Press on Saturday morning and this pretty much saw me pacing around my room, reading my pitch out loud and then generally wandering around morning tea unable to concentrate on anything. Finally, finally the magic time of 10.55 arrived and I was safely in my seat outside the room trying to get my heart to slow down and doing deep breathing exercises. Yes. I was in that much of a state. Over a pitch. I know. Useless.

Anyway, I stuttered and stumbled through it only to look up from the table and find Cindy grinning at me. "I'm really interested in this," she said. "Er, pardon," was my graceful reply! But a request for a full manuscript it was.

Of course I am presently having a major stress out over the plot, and am in re-writing hell, but hopefully I'll have it to her in a couple of weeks and then the fingers crossed waiting begins! Yikes.

So, floated through lunch in a dream. Had another Margie Lawson workshop in the afternoon, very useful (okay, I wasn't really concentrating, I was dreaming about ginormous book deals) and then in the evening we had the awards dinner. Lots of excellent food, nice wine and a great deal of clapping.

Unfortunatly on Sunday morning I had terrible news. A dear family friend had died of cancer after a long battle. I missed the morning sessions, and just hung out in my room getting my head around it all. These things are always such a shock, even when you know they're coming. Tottered downstairs for lunch, really only becuase I had to check-out, but then in the afternoon I had a workshop on story-telling.

The storytelling workshop was hosted by the ever bubbly Imelda Evans, and it was fascinating. Who knew there was a way to tell stories. Needless to say, I was not exactly good at it, but I've been practicing on the kids and they love it.

Then it was more hanging out in the bar until it was time to catch my train back to Sydney. Loved the train, even more this time as on the way home we were at the very end of the train, away from the damn whistle and I slept all the way.

Brissy next year.

Can't wait.

Friday Workshop in Melbourne

So, on Friday I spent the day with Margie Lawson doing her workshop on empowering characters emotions. It was long, it was bamboozling, and if you'd asked me what I learned when I walked out of the room I'd have muttered, "nuthin," and then tottered off to find the nearest source of caffeine to get my fried brain to, yanno, do something.

But, on reflection, I got a lot out of the workshop. The principal point being that my characters Have No Emotion. Nope. They smile, they act out cliches, they frown, and then they barrel along to the next paragraph of action or dialogue. I realised that my readers don't own the characters emotions. I tell the reader how the character feels and they take note and move along. They are not there feeling the emotion with my character. But Margie has given me some brilliant tips on how to fix this, and whilst last nights attempt was fundamentally awful...

Ice, sharp and jagged stuck in the base of her throat, stopping the words with furious dismay, and silence, as cutting as the ice split the room like a searing bolt of lightening.

Hell, I'd had three glasses of red wine. But I can see what Margie was saying about 'freshing' your writing and adding more to the emotion. I still can't believe I was missing it so completely.

DUH!

Friday Night Cocktail Party

Oh had a very nice time at the cocktail party. Being here on my lonesome I took myself to the Baa to be a bar-fly (a long time occupation of mine) and watch the world go by. Of course being in a hotel with 200+ romance writers in it, I wasn't lonely for long. After five minutes I was joined by two ladies in witch outfits on my left, and then a few minutes after that joined by three more ladies, also in witch outfits on my right. Yes, a coven of Romance writers.

I had a stripy top on and my new scarlet shrug, which had, until that point, seemed quite the latest thing to wear. Apparently I was wrong. Almost everyone had dressed up in enchanted outfits and the cocktail party was heaving with faries and witches and wizards.

I met up with Crissy Brashear and Angela from Samhain Publishing, which was very exciting. Not to mention Cindy Hwang from Berkley. I'll put up some photos when someone emails me some.

In Melbourne...

It has been an extremely busy month, with me flat out getting The Bunker all finished and beyootiful for my pitch to Cindy Hwang at the Romance Writers Conference in Melbourne. Where I happen to be right now, and, let me add, it is perishing cold and pouring rain. So instead of having a bracing walk along the Yarra I am holed up in my hotel room, eating chocolate and selecting which beauty treatment I shall spoil myself with. Yes, I am suffering for my art (again).

I arrived here at around 8am this morning, after spending last night on the sleeper train from Sydney to Melbourne. It was an extremely cool way to spend the night. I had my own little room, all to myself, and a tiny tiny bathroom, where you had to unhook the toilet from the wall, and the sink. Unusual is the only comment I shall make on the bathroom experiences. Very unusual. Being an extremely light sleeper who gets driven completely up the wall by external noise, meant that the fact my cabin was around eight metres behind a massive diesel engine and accompanying horn that had to be blown about every twenty minutes, was not conducive to a long and restful night. I did however lie on my bed and watch the moonlit nightscape fly past, drifting off, until the driver blew the sodding horn again. I'm doing it again on Sunday night, but think this time I'll involve alcohol.

Then had my first run in with a Melburnian taxi driver, he only managed to get us nearly killed four times in a five minute trip. He was amazed to discover that Sydney is so far away from Melbourne. Yes. Nuff said really.

Two hours spent over breakfast, then shopping, lunch, bumped into two famous comedians (think Chaser boys), gallons of tea, lots of chocolate and after I've had a manicure, I will be lying in bed and getting someone to Bring Me My Dinner. Given that dinner is generally eaten standing up, keeping the peace between the screamies, I'm rather looking forward to it. Oh, and I might pop down to the bar, just for a spot of networking you understand. Nothing more. Just networking.

I should of course be perfecting my pitch, and I may well get the relevant bits of paper out and scatter them around a bit - good grief, its hailing - but really I am carefully conserving my strength for tomorrow - an all day workshop with Margie Lawson on empowering characters emotions. Yes, I can't wait either.

Five Hearts for Running Scared

Woke up to a lovely email from the equally lovely Jess Dee this morning alerting me to the fact that Running Scared had been reviewed by The Romance Studio.

Here 'tis

It’s a starry night in Sydney Australia when wealthy bachelor and archeologist Mitchell Cartwright meets Julie Marchant, expert gemologist, at a society banquet. The pair fall in lust for the night and go their separate ways in the morning.

To this reader it looks like the author did a lot of research for this novel. Her descriptive writing about gemology, archeology, the post Vietnam War era in Laos, Thailand and Vietnam looks to be very well done. She gives us an up-close look at the people, their lives and the countries Mitch and Julie travel through while trying to escape the country in turmoil. In every stage of their travels each separately or together is helped or hindered by an acquaintance or friend who adds a unique flavor to the story. There’s just enough romance, conflict, intrigue, suspense, information and humor blended together to make this an easy read that‘s hard to put down.

Overall rating:
Sensuality rating: Explicit

Reviewer: Dee Dailey
July 18, 2008

Farewell Olive

Am sad to report that Olive Reily, the world's oldest blogger died on Saturday. Those of you who've read this blog for a while will know that I've been a fan of Olive's for a long, long time. Her website http://www.allaboutolive.com.au/ is currently melting down, but SMH have a nice article about her, and there is a brief couple of posts up on her alternative blog.

Oh, I need a hug. :(

Secret Intentions

YAY, finally the cover of Secret Intentions, and the blurb. How cool?? The e-version is out 23 September and its up on the Coming Soon pages of the Samhain website already.

Just when you think things can’t get any worse…

Zani’s mission is simple. Go undercover as personal assistant to the loathsome Corbin de Villiers, prove he’s leaking corporate secrets, and leave him to the tender mercies of the fraud squad. Her family name will remain untouched by any hint of scandal, and she can get on with building custom-designed yachts.

Things get complicated when she discovers that Corbin is less loathsome—and far sexier—than she’d ever imagined.

Corbin’s new PA may be easy on the eyes, but she can’t even find the computer’s on button. He has no choice but to fire her; still, she doesn’t take the hint. Everywhere he turns she pops up, keen to divert him from tracking down the person who is out to destroy his company.

It’s crystal clear that she’s up to something. Maybe it’s better to keep her close. For investigative purposes, of course. That she’s temptation with a capital T has got nothing to do with it. Nothing.

Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it when Zani is kidnapped by the Russian Mafia. Entangled in a rapidly unraveling web of lies, Zani and Corbin must learn the rules of this new game fast…or die.

This title contains graphic descriptions of luxury yachts. Oh, and some hot sex, as well. A moderate amount. You have been warned.

I cannot do it all

It's been with a great deal of consideration that I write this blog entry.

A few weeks ago I was watching Grey's Anatomy, it was the final episode, and the character Dr Miranda Bailey handed over her responsibilities in the hospital clinic to Izzy. When she was asked why she was giving up something she loved so much she said the following...

I have realised that I cannot do it all and have it all at the same time.

These words resonated with me.

I am exhausted.

The reason I am exhausted are that I am trying to do it all and have it all, and I too have finally realised that it is just not possible.

I have enjoyed writing this blog, words cannot describe how much. However, lately I've been struggling, at home, at work, and with my writing. Something has to give and I'm sorry to say that the blog is going to be one of those things.

I'm not closing it down completely, and perhaps when things calm down a bit and I've got my mojo back I'll get back to my old form. However, for the time being I'm planning on a once a week update which will focus on what writing I am doing.

Again, thank you all for reading my blog, you have no idea how much I appreciate you all.

Edits

Well, the edits that were due last Sunday nearly killed me. Sensibly, very sensibly, I was editing when feeling under the weather on Saturday (yes I was hungover - hey it gets my internal editor to shut up and things flow better - yes I am justifying myself). Only late on Saturday I realised I had left the latest edits I'd done on another computer that I couldn't access until Monday and that I had been Editing The Wrong Document all day.

Yes, Karma.

So come Monday I manage to get all the changes into the one document, then come Monday night am doing the last finishing touches. Shut the document, pat self on back, have glass of wine and compose witty email to editor. Go to attach file. CANT FIND IT. Yes, had accidentally saved it in the email temp folder and when I opened the version sitting in Outlook it overwrote EVERYTHING I HAD DONE.

Fuck.

Two hours later it was all back as it should be (and we're talking way past midnight now) and I have never been so glad to see the back of a manuscript ever.

Second Round of Edits

Second round of edits have just arrived, and I have the extremely short deadline of Sunday night.

Plus I'm flat out at work from Thursday.

Yes. I am coping in my usual unflustered style.

HAH.

Try, head on desk muttering "It'll be alright, everything will be just fine..." over and over.

Just 2hrs until I can open a bottle of wine...

sigh.

Rootkits and Packet Sniffing

In my quest for writing a novel based on as much fact as I can, I have entered the world of rootkits and deep packet sniffing.

The IT department at work have generously been educating me.

Yes, like you, I was all, rootkits and packet sniffing? Surely you are only talking about obscure computer hacking terms? I was like that. I was. But then I giggled. Australian's are incapable of not giggling when the word root is mentioned, its a cultural thing. Giggling about the word rooting that is. Not the actual rooting - that's pretty much worldwide as far as I can tell. Anyway, I giggled, and then I blushed scarlet.

Yes. Scarlet.

Now I have lost what little dignity I had and in front of the grinning IT department. Apparently it gives one a sense of achievement to make a romance novelist blush.

Though, I should confess that its not hard to make me blush. I seem to have been hardwired to do it on command. During my school years on the bus I was TORTURED by snotty little boys (who might now be lawyers and barristers and financial advisers on telly, BUT I REMEMBER YOU WHEN YOU ONLY WASHED ONCE A WEEK IF THAT).

"Don't go red," they'd all chorus at me. I obligingly went red, mostly due to the attention I'd garnered.

Of course then I grew boobs.

Nobody noticed the colour of my face for years after that.

I'm still here!

Phew - just sent off the first round of edits for Secret Intentions. I apologise for not being here as much as usual, but brace yourselves for a blogging fiesta now! Oh I have so much to talk about - the weather has been wet and I've spent many frustrated days inside with my darling children, half the roof is missing due to the fascia under the gutters rotting through and collapsing, and as a result we are running a half-way house for homeless possums.

I am tired.

I am pissed off.

I am moving swiftly from being overwhelmed, to sickness, to exhaustion, to ennui and back to overwhelmed again.

Though, I must add, that at this moment I am clutching a glass of frangelico and lemon juice on the rocks, and have spent the evening filling myself with pizza and ice cream. The cat is climbing the curtains and life could be worse.

Yes, it continues much as it has for the last four years.

Wear a sportsbra...

Ladies & Gentlemen who read the blog of Cait Nicholas (I know you do BRIAN)... wear a sportsbra.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, a sportsbra would be it.

Yes.

I've taken up jogging.

Why?

Well, that's a good question.

The simplest answer (and probably the most accurate) is that the edits for Secret Intentions arrived last Monday. The house has never been tidier, Angela the cleaning angel won't have a thing to do tomorrow. A new and complex diet requiring many hours in the kitchen has been devised. And I've taken up jogging.

And now...
My knees hurt.
My shoulder hurts.
I can barely breathe.
AND I've done more damage to my boobs than an entire year of breastfeeding.

Sportsbra shopping with two small children tomorrow.

Yes. I think that will go very well. With no loss of dignity. None.

Unlikely Books that I have been reading

Books I have been reading of late...

Leod - Six old English Poems - a handbook
Women who run with the wolves - Clarissa Pinkola Estes
The early middle ages 400 - 1000
The Origins of Beowulf and the pre-Viking Kingdom of East Anglia
Mansfield Park - Jane Austen
Crossstich - Diana Gabaldon
Poems and prose from the old English
Writing Down the Bones
Walking on Water - Madeleine L'Engle
Bringing Up Girls

Hmm.

SIGH.

Imagine, ten seconds before you leap into the car with your howling children that you discover that you are wearing the exact same outfit as your husband... jeans (blue), jumper (red), t-shirt (white), shoes (brown). Then, after carefully making sure he departs swiftly from the daycare centre so that nobody sees you, and dealing with the mother of all tantrums (Miss bugalugs hanging onto the gate with both hands, screaming - I had her ankles - and eight parents unable to get in, four parents unable to get out)... Imagine, after ALL that, you are strolling across the quadrangle for a restorative hot chocolate, when you realise you are wearing the EXACT same outfit as your BOSS.

Sick again

I just wanted to share that I'm sick again. Damn tonsils. Am getting to the point where the thought of a hospital visit and having them whipped out is more attractive than the thought of another course of antibiotics.

Sigh.

The Doctor has advised that I go to bed early, and no coughing, sneezing, spitting or kissing.

I know.

What am I going to do at work all day?

Eurovision Song Contest

Well, I'm in a right cranky old mood this morning. Is it because...

1. The cat got attacked by a dog and its cost us just under $600 in vet fees - NO
2. One of my children and my husband are both sick and underfoot on My Day Off - NO
3. I ate an entire packet of caramel crowns yesterday - NO
4. The price of petrol - NO
5. The price of groceries - NO
6. I have a giant spot on my chin - NO
7. Mortgage interest rates - NO

I'm a right cranky mood because Portugal didn't win the Eurovision song contest.

Russia did.

RUSSIA.

I know. One manky singer with a violinist and an ice-skater was better than the lovely Ms Portugal and her slightly Greek looking backing singers.

Sigh. Is there no justice in the world? Even Terry Wogan - the pithy British commentator - sound cross about it. Rumour has it, that it was a "done deal."

Am still trying to come to terms with the French singer sucking helium out of a blow-up globe to make himself sing falsetto. AND the Azerbaijan dancers, never have I seen a g-string so far up a bottom crack - HOW did they still manage to dance like that? HOW?

Its a mysterious world.

Ghosts

Now, do you believe in ghosts??

I do. I do because of a couple of odd things that have happened over the years. But I have to say I haven't had a single ghostly encounter for over twenty years.

But the strangest thing happened.

Our first night at the hotel (which is very old and is supposed to be haunted) we returned to our room to find the TV was on. Only we hadn't turned it on. Yup, we didn't think anything of it either. Until our last night. The room next to ours was empty, and we were blissfully asleep when we're jerked awake by the sound of the TV blaring. I went to investigate, the doors were locked, the lights were on, the tv was on and there wasn't anyone in the room. We called security to come and turn it off and they confirmed noone was in the room.

Odd huh.

But here is the oddest thing. We stayed at the hotel a couple of years ago, and on our last night THE SAME THING HAPPENED. Radio blaring in the empty room next door in the middle of the night.

The Mini-Break

Have spent the past few days down in the Southern Highland having a mini-break with Hubby. Here is a truly woeful photo of me, in the lap of luxury and what am I doing? Marking Valerie Parv contest entries, that's what. Going to get the last of them done tomorrow. But yes, my dedication knows no bounds.

Ten reasons I am a BAAAAD mother.

1. Last Friday I went out and got drunk. I also smoked a packet of cigarettes. I continue to smoke.
2. My children are in three days of day care but I only work two days.
3. I have no idea how many serves of calcium/fibre/protein my children eat a day. I'm just fucking glad when they actually do eat.
4. I swear. Quite a fucking lot.
5. I crave solitude.
   
6. I frequently forget to wipe their little faces, yes, mine are grubby children.
7. I don't sing songs at bedtime.
8. People scowl at my children's behaviour in public, I ignore them (both my children and the people).
9. I yell.
10. I bribe.
    

To Blog or not to Blog

Sussan asked me a question about blogging...

Is having a blog part of the recommended marketing strategy? I noticed that you don't advertise your book on your blog, but do advertise on your webpage. I know the assumption is that every visitor you have comes through your website. But what happens when they visit or find your blog first? Someone like me, for instance. Do you see the blog as more personal, and therefore not a place to advertise your book?

My take on blogging is quite straightforward, if you want to blog and enjoy it then go for it.

If however you see blogging as a huge chore then don't.

There is absolutely nothing worse than reading over a blog which is simply a series of apologies for not blogging. Its clear to everyone that the person doesn't want to blog and that defeats the purpose.

I love to blog. Love it. I've been blogging for coming up to three years now, my longest break has been ten days. My blog is a joy, I enjoy going through my days picking out the things I could be blogging about. People who're faithful readers have been with me through everything from domestic ups and downs to the day my Grandmother died. Their help and support has got me through some tough times and they've laughed with me when the only other option was to cry and given sage advice on baby issues, bad back issues...

So no, this blog is not any part of a marketing strategy, and yes I probably should be making more effort to sell my book on it. But I think if a person likes what they read here they'll check out the website, and if not... well... chances are they weren't going to buy the book anyway.

I'm a total fan of Jane Porter and often read her blog, however, from time to time she will put up a hard sell blog post for her latest book. Frankly I find it a complete turn off. I share my life on the blog because I enjoy it, not to keep people interested long enough to politely request they buy a book or put a review on Amazon.

I do, however, put up a post if I'm doing other stuff in cyberspace, blogging elsewhere, have an interview up, that sort of thing. People can go take a look or glide over it to the next post, its up to them.

I will also soon be moaning at length about the edits due to arrive for Secret Intentions - I reckon I don't have to advertise my next book on the blog because everyone has had to suffer through the edits with me anyway!

Not having a good afternoon...

Have been working for over an hour. Here's what I've got so far...

He stepped towards her, put his drink down next to her empty plate and straightened, so close that they nearly touched. Then without hesitating bent swiftly and brushed her lips in a kiss that was more of a question.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh. WHY WONT THIS FUCKING SCENE WORK. WHY. WHY. WHY.

Usually at this point I'd have a drink, but yesterday I had a champagne or two and ended up downloading Broken Wings by Mr. Mister onto my iPod.

Frankly there are depths to which I'd rather not sink.

Small Press Publishing - what it's really like...

Okay, I'd just like to start this post with the preface that firstly I have, thus far, only published one book (next one out in Sept - wheeee!) and that what I'm saying here is from my own limited experience with Samhain Publishing. I ain't no marketing guru nor am I an expert on other publishers.

So, I've probably banged on enough about my first sale story, but briefly, I was having a really tough time struggling with a 10month old toddler and a grim pregnancy (grim because I just couldn't stop being sick). I was shattered and spiraling into post-natal depression (and yes you can get it before the baby arrives!). Hubby suggested I come up with a project, something just for me, that would take my focus away from life with the small screamies (okay screamy at that stage) and make me sit down and stop stressing about everything. Thus Running Scared came into being. I began it around June 2004 and it was sold to Samhain Publishing in January 2005 just after Miss Bugalugs was born.

This flung me in at the deep end of small press publishing. I didn't have a clue. At first it was all a nightmare of editing and breastfeeding (although the breastfeeding part was not part of the publishing - just in case you were wondering). Running Scared almost had to be rewritten from scratch, but I cannot describe how much I learned.

And this is where the value in small press publishing lies for the newbie. In Running Scared I had made every beginner mistake known to publishing and invented a few new ones! But I had the opportunity to go through the book line by line with a professional editor, who not only told me what needed to be changed by why.

At times it was gruelling and overwhelming, at times I just didn't think I could come up with another scene, but I did. I think the very worst moment was two weeks before it was e-published, and we had signed off Running Scared, all done, ready to go. Then I get an email from my Editor (on the 26 December - yes Boxing day) including a copy of the text with 500+ changes that a line editor had picked up. These weren't just typo changes either, these were "too much headhopping in this sex scene..." type changes, so the scene had to be totally rewritten from one point of view. I was at the point where I wanted to screech LEAVE IT, I don't care. But instead I gave up my holiday and sat down and rewrote again.

My point is, that a big publisher would not have looked twice at this book. But at Samhain they saw I had the bones of a good story and that I could string a sentence together and decided to work with me. Otherwise that novel would've ended up buried on some hard disc somewhere and I maybe wouldn't have written again.

This is why, when I see Crissy and Angela at the conference I shall be sobbing all over them and explaining to them exactly how they changed my life for the better.

Sorry, gushing.

But, little did I realise that the editing and publishing of Running Scared was only the first rung in the vertical learning curve that I found myself upon. Next came the marketing.

My first and instinctive response to marketing was pretty much along the lines of, "Shit NO WAY. I'm not going to SELL my own novel. Get real."

Samhain, however, had come across my sort before!

So they, and I believe that other small press/e publishers do this as well, had put in place a support network for writers swooning at the thought of flogging their wares.

E-Loops
First place you start your marketing is the e-loops.
At Samhain there are three loops for authors only where you can discuss advertising, marketing, birthday parties, grocery lists whatever! Some of the authors are very experienced in marketing and a couple come from a marketing background, and they give, give, give... Ask a question and people all over the world respond with their advice/experience. You find yourself thinking 'okay maybe I can do this.'

At Samhain we also have the Samhain Cafe, an e-loop where readers and authors chat 24/7, this is a fab place to start marketing. I so remember sending a timid email, along the lines of "Hi, I'm a newbie, my book has just come out, please don't hurt me..." and was overwhelmed with support an interest. I could barely keep up.

But you don't have to limit yourself to your publisher, websites like Coffee Time Romance, Romance Junkies, The Romance Studio have vast yahoogroups, chat rooms, competitions and so on, soley for authors to make contact with readers and sell their books.

Courses
Did you think publishing was just about writing and maybe a bit of marketing?? Nope. Prepare yourself to become aufait with the mysteries of HTML, web design, jpg's, working with printers, designing your own fridge magnets... The sky is the limit. But again at Samhain they are behind you, they run online classes, how to design a brochure, how to write an HTML newsletter, with experts to help. In these classes the clueless mix with the clueful and suddenly there you are sending out emails with a picture of your book cover in the signature line.

So as you can see, whilst the world of marketing your own novel may, at first glance, seem daunting, you are not alone.

Reviews
Samhain sends out your novel for reviews, and has a list of approved reviewers that you can send to yourself. Reviews are marketing gold. You can pick the best line or two from the review and sprinkle it about... on your website, in your brochure, in your signature line. You can let the world know that someone out there thinks your books are great. I've only had one average review (and to be honest I think the reviewer had a valid point in her criticism) and even then she still said some good stuff about the novel. Curious? She kindly put the review up on amazon.com so have a look if you wish.

The Print Version
So six months after my e-version came out I got my own print version to hold in my hand, I felt that life was now complete, but still the marketing began again.

It was much the same as before with e-loops and chats, posting excerpts of the novel and getting involved in give-aways and competitions. However, by this time it'd become clear that first it was going to be a long time between books for me (I just couldn't have a high output and give the kids what they needed) and second that Running Scared was not going to sell itself. The novel is a good story, but I'm the first to admit isn't a masterpiece (and I know it is a cardinal sin to talk down your own book, but its also important to understand the reality of your situation).

Books do sell themselves. Great reviews, people raving about it on chat lists, 4.5 stars from Romantic Times, a cover that is being lauded from one end of cyberspace to the other. Sometimes the book just clicks. But the reality is that many books fall into the average grade. Nothing awful about them but they don't earn their writer a mint either. I am NOT ashamed to admit that Running Scared was such a book - its value to me is far beyond monetary.

So, I decided to use the launch of the print version to learn everything I could about publishing and marketing. First thing I did was pay the piper. Asked around and booked advertising space on a couple of big websites such as Coffee Time Romance, got involved in some of the packages those sites offer such as Latte Limelight and took advantage of the e-cards, chats and blogging opportunities. So from September through to November of last year I was flat out with this stuff. And I really enjoyed it. Teamed up with a few other authors and did an Aussie chat day - Samhain Cafe has yet to recover from that! It was intensely hard work, I got hardly any of my own writing done and the house descended into chaos, but it was fun.

The hits on the website doubled, then tripled, and it was fascinating to see the instant effect of some types of advertising. Other types of advertising, however, barely made a ripple in the pond. This has been solid gold for me now as I'm sorting out advertising for Secret Intentions. Cover on the front of Coffee Time Romance, worked and I had a sales spike. Interview with Romance Junkies, not a flicker of interest. And its experience like this that makes Running Scared such a valuable book.

I had my own book launch - yes a whole new experience in fear, but I did it and I'm glad I did. Sent out press releases to local papers - to the eternal amusement of my workplace when they were published with smarmy photo. I tried it all.

These days all writers need to do this kind of marketing. Maybe its not so full on with a big publisher, or maybe its full on in a different way (I expect a book tour would pretty much reduce you to a jelly). But from Ken Follet to Jane Porter to me, we are all out there marketing ourselves and our work (appearances on Oprah, having your book turned into a movie and... um... Tim Tam giveaways!)

With small presses you do have to open your wallet, and with Running Scared I spent around $500 which I doubt is going to be earned back. But I see it as my hobby, and hell, people spend thousands on quilting and scrapbooking, and that is just for their own pleasure.

Don't let the marketing aspect of small presses put you off investigating or submitting to them. It is a bona fide way to get your foot in the door and the rewards for yourself and your writing career can be far and beyond what you may imagine.

So, questions? I hope I've addressed what everyone wanted to know in the chat room last night - and sorry I was only there for ten minutes or so! If any other authors have anything to add I'd love to hear it. Like I said, this is my limited experience in a nutshell.


Oh and we did catch the possums and they are now safely living in the possum boxes!

The Possum Hunter

Yup. The roof men have been. The roof is sealed and we have two blissfully slumbering possums trapped inside the roof. Its going to be an interesting evening.

Hubby and I are armed with apple slices and a possum trap (just a cage they go into and can't get out of) and two possum boxes waiting in nearby trees, all cosy and ready to go. The only thing we need to do is get cranky possums into trap and thence to garden. We are quite nervous. Actually I'm not, but hubby is. He's envisaging scenes aka the end of 1984 (ie his head being attacked by possums).

I'm planning on watching events unfold from the safety of the couch.

Shall let you know how it goes.

Being a Judge

I got a lot of questions last night (in the RWA chatroom) about being a contest judge. In, I think, all of the writing contests each entry has to be judged by a published author. I love being a judge, it never ceases to amaze me how imaginative and creative people are.

We published judges know how confronting it can be to enter your work in a contest, we've all been there, and I have to say its good practice. You have to learn to handle criticism if you are going to make it as a pubbed author. Writing is many glorious things, but to do it for a living you cop rejection and criticism frequently. Just wait until an editor gets their hands on your beloved book. They'll rip it apart. But, they are doing it so that your book is better, so that it will sell better, you that you will get better reviews. Contest judges have the same motivation. Their comments are to improve your work. Yes we can be wrong, but we are frequently reading a part of the story out of context, and yes we miss things, but when that happens just glide over the comment. Think, 'no, she's wrong, she doesn't understand that I'm foreshadowing (or whatever)' and move on.

Just remember that judges judge because they want to help you get your book published.

Judging is no small undertaking. I usually take on 7 - 10 manuscripts, and right now I have a pile sitting on the floor about the size of a ream of paper. I devote about 1 - 1.5 hours per entry. I read it through making mental notes and getting a feel for the whole thing and then whip out my red pen and highlighter and get to work. If something is good I say so, and I say why, same for if its bad or not working. The why part is incredibly hard. Its so easy to just say 'Loved it' and move on, but that doesn't help the writer. They need to know what they're doing right and what they're doing wrong and WHY.

Its also important to remember that when you enter a contest you don't get judged by one judge. Usually its three or four. This helps put each judge's comments in perspective as well. If they all hone in on one point then its clear that point must be changed no matter how vital or poetic. Though from my experience judges see your work very differently, which is fascinating in itself, its amazing how one person will pick up one perspective and another miss it entirely.

I truly believe that it was the comments of a contest judge that got Running Scared across the line and accepted for publication by Samhain. It was in the Emerald. This judge tore my entry to bits. You have never SEEN so much red pen. At first I was confronted, couldn't look at her comments for days, but when I did I saw that she'd been constructive. I could write, the story was good, she said, and then started to use a lot of words that included trite, boring, cliched and awkward (yes I did get rather pissed-off). But she was right. Totally right. I re-wrote the whole thing and sold it two months later. I always thank heavens for her (actually I have a suspicion as to who she was and have bought all her books!!).

Absinthe & Anzac Day

Its officially cold. Have started making porridge in the morning for the screamies. Yes, winter is upon us.

Yesterday was Anzac Day, and no, I was unpatriotic and did not manage to crawl out of bed at 4.30am like James next-door and attend the dawn service. My Grandfather was in the RAAF during WW2 but at 92 he is still pretending that the horrors he experienced didn't happen so there has never been a family emphasis on Anzac Day. I am however having him over to spend the day tomorrow. What better way than to say thanks than to let him see his Great-Grandkids looking cute and angelic and, most likely, having howling tantrums about the place. (He comes for the food, I know this).

Have been doing research on Absinthe (or Absynthe). After a demented day yesterday which included a trip down to Ingleburn (godbless the new in-car DVD player), was avoiding writing The Bunker and ended up in the Romance Australia chat room for a couple of hours (as well as taking part in a Samhain HTML newsletter workshop, bidding on ebay and rearranging iTunes). It went off, and if you're a RWA member drop by next Friday, 8pm - 10pm. So anyway, in the chatroom we had a long discussion with Tracey the absynthe expert, its always intrigued me given it was illegal for most of last century. Here's what wikipedia has to say about it (oh how I love wikipedia).

Absinthe is a distilled, highly alcoholic (45%-75% ABV), anise-flavored spirit derived from herbs, including the flowers and leaves of the herb Artemisia absinthium, also called "wormwood." Absinthe is typically of a natural green color but is also produced in both clear and artificially colored styles. It is often called "the Green Fairy."

Absinthe was portrayed as a dangerously addictive, psychoactive drug. The chemical thujone, present in small quantities, was blamed for its alleged harmful effects. By 1915 absinthe had been banned in most European nations and the United States. Although absinthe was vilified,^[2] no evidence has shown it to be any more dangerous than ordinary liquor. Its psychoactive properties, apart from those of ethanol, have been much exaggerated.

So, further to Thursdays post (a long moan about turning into a boring fart) in addition to possible hair dyeing, tattooing, and piercing, I'm adding a taste for absinthe - hmm, I do believe I'm starting to find my inner Goth.

Old Friends... Or DAMN YOU Facebook

Hubby and I are having another night in. Just like every other night since we got pregnant. The fire is going, music is on, the wine is nearly gone and I am cheerfully surfing ebay for teacups that I Simply Cannot Live Without.

Usually I'd be perfectly happy.

But tonight I'm inwardly howling.

What Have I Become?

Facebook is to blame.

I've come across some old buddies of late. People who knew me in my youth - and I'm talking 17 odd years ago now (oh and Freddie Bear who knew me when I was eight so he doesn't really count as I was just working up to my prime at that point). And don't get me wrong, I'm deeply glad we've made contact. I have been wondering about these people for years. And now here we are swapping stories of divorce, babies, adventures, studying, being an artist's muse, swimming with sharks, all incredible moments of their lives which, little do they know, are going to end up in a book sometime!

But its made me a bit melancholy, and its taken 3/4 of a bottle of wine to figure out why... I kind of miss that wild, reckless, drunken girl I used to be. What happened to her? Where did she go? Rolling drunkenly around the Muddy Duck in Wagga and escaping home in an orange combe-van, avoiding strippers (male and female) at 10am on a Sunday morning at the Church in Kings Cross, London, busily evaporating last night's hangover with snakebites, or running around a gay nightclub in Kunming in China (and being ardently pursued by Italian cigarette company reps). Then it seems life got serious, or I calmed down, or grew up, or something. Only I don't suppose I realised Adventure Cait had really left the building until I started to look back over my twenties and thirties and see that I haven't darkened the door of a Youth Hostel in nearly ten years, in fact I've let my membership lapse. Shared bathrooms? I Dont Think So. I like my hotels 5 star, thankyouverymuchindeed.

God. When did I turn into my parents?

I'm feeling the need to do something outrageous. Just to prove I can. And no I don't mean Smoking a Cigarette, or Getting Drunk at Hornsby RSL or even Opening Another Bottle of Wine. Suggestions welcome and I'll let you know what I come up with.

Birthday Parties... the aftermath

This photo was taken by me hiding inside the house. You see they've got balloons.

Yes. If there is one thing in this world that sends me into a cold sweat its being in the presence of balloons.

Children's birthday parties are a trial, always had been. I remember once being at a work chrissy thing and there were hundreds of balloons suspended in nets from the ceiling, ready to be dropped at any moment. I left early. I couldn't bear it. And everyone kept asking why I kept staring fixedly upwards.

Autumn

Its really arrived...

Hair

Am avoiding writing at the moment. Not writer's block. Am over that. Just every time I sit down to write I find something else to do. Like surf ebay for tea-cups. Or, find friends on Facebook. Or fiddle about on Myspace. Or watch TV, clean out the laundry cupboard (3 packets of mothballs? 3??), tidy the kitchen, organise someone to remove the possums from our roof, check the weather... you get the idea.

So, latest obsession is dying my hair. I'm thinking bright red and blue streaks. No seriously I am. Its just such boring hair and it just sits there. I want Loud Wacky Hair, which will go very nicely with my Loud Wacky personality. No really, I am loud and wacky, well I could be, if I wanted to.

sigh.

Hubby is appalled and trying very hard to be 'a good supportive husband' - okay, so when he told me I was mad I managed to look like I was about to cry and he's been running scared ever since.

Ohhh Queasy....

Have just got home from wonderful birthday party. For Tom who's two.

So here is what my children ate this weekend...
Saturday: Breakfast (cereal, milk, toast). McDonalds for lunch (yes, am bad, weak mother). Most of dinner (steak and veges) was chewed thoughtfully and then spat back on the plate (or the floor) - although hubby liked it.
Sunday: Breakfast (cereal, milk, toast). Fizzy drink, popcorn, cake (although the actual cake part was left uneaten, heaven forbid it may have had something healthy in it like white flour or sugar or butter - they just scoffed the blue/purple icing), more fizzy drink, frankfurters, vegemite sandwiches, more cake icing, jam tarts with lollies on them, fizzy drink. Then, NOT ONLY did their mother end up with half the birthday cake to bring home, but we ALL got lolly bags as well.

I harvested the pumpkins (all three of them) from the garden yesterday, and am making pumpkin soup for dinner. At least then I can tell myself I've offered them some form of non-processed food.

sigh.

Tomorrow I will be a better parent. Tomorrow.

Hilarious Blog

http://www.dooce.com/

Its hilarious. Just read the post about her hat.

I'll put it up on the sidebar when I get a chance.

GITB - Abundance & Pain

So, my GITB course is trotting along, quite quickly actually. I just manage to forget all about doing the readings for one week and another list comes along, so then I do the readings for the previous week so I don't feel guilty and... well... you get the idea. Its the story of my life anyway.

So last week was about the Abundance in our lives. Yes my life is overflowing with abundance, and germs. But mostly abundance. No its good. I'm not one for counting my blessings, actually I take them rather for granted. Which is bad. I should write a list. I shall add writing a list of all my abundances to my list of things I should do.

My bottom. Now that is abundant. And getting more abundant by the minute. Oh well. Its cold, the knitwear has come out and I've found this excellent long cardigan thingy that covers my abundant bottom, so it can just stay abundant I reckon.

All bottoms aside. One of our tasks was to imagine our perfect lives and work towards it. So I imagined my perfect life. Nice house. I love my house. Nice Garden. I especially love my garden. Loving family. Weeell some days I'm not sure about the loving, but they're all mine and I kinda like them - okay let's just say I'd be reeelly upset if they went away... permanently that is.

Anyway, without being too vomity about it, I have to say that I'm pretty much there when it comes to living my ideal life. The ONLY thing missing is a horse. Yes. A horse. Things aren't too bad when the only thing missing from your life is a horse.

SO, then this week just so we don't feel too cheerful for too long we're doing PAIN. Now (and this is true) when I see the word PAIN I just think that it's the french word for bread. Then I start thinking about french food and my bottom ends up being more abundant. Yes. Unusually optimistic for me, but there you have it.

So we're supposed to be looking at past hurts and how they've changed your life. So, for example, you are a gifted artist, but some discontented art-teacher tells you you're crap in Year 8 and you crawl away and never paint again. That type of thing.

Now I'm not without my share of past hurts. I anybody really? I had a boyfriend killed in a car accident when I was 19, it took me a long time to get over it. I've lived through a divorce. And yes, they were great turning points in my life. They did send me off in new directions, but I think its all good. It got me to where I am now and, as I said before, I can't imagine a more perfect life for myself (apart from the horse thing).

All is revealed...

So its not the fact that

• I'm woken up 3 - 6 times a night, or
  
• I cook
• I clean
• I shop
• I adjudicate
• I pay bills
• I write
• I diagnose
• I hug
• I work
• I drive
• I clothe
• I talk and walk and type
• I organise
  
• I watch and worry
  

But no, I'm exhausted because I have low iron levels. Well thank you Sydney Morning Herald for deciding that all women are exhausted because they're anemic.

Its cold, my feet are cold, and yes I know some of you reading this are currently being snowed upon, but 17 degrees in Sydney is a very cold 17 degrees. Much colder than elsewhere. No, I'm convinced of it.

Am tired and very, very crabby. Hubby has gone to Dubbo on business. Yes, selfish, I agree. The rest of the household, fully aware that there is only ME to take care of their nocturnal wanderings, put on a magnificent effort last night. After three hours of scratching fleas and purring the cat decided to take a twenty minute break outside and then come back and nag at the door. The dog had similar ideas. Miss Beanie kept dropping Funky (a plastic horse) and Red car (a red matchbox car) on the wood floor and then howling for them to be picked up, because hell, the fifteen other dollies and teddies in bed weren't nearly enough. Miss Bugalugs was snoring, possibly to make sure I didn't miss her father. AND there was a thunderstorm.

I ask you.

So, glutton for punishment that I am, this morning bleary eyed and foul tempered I potter off to the supermarket (only to have the checkout chick count every last cent in her till BEFORE serving me), then go to the butcher (who was busy chatting and not in the mood for serving customers), then to Bakers Delight (where I was served by a TRAINEE who couldn't count and nearly got eaten by the bread slicer).

Then, just to make sure I had spread the joy, I went to Bunnings (where the luddite who served me insisted on putting the 50kgs of dynamic lifter I'd asked for onto a different trolley, leaving me with two trolleys to deal with - uh thanks. Also the Bunnings carpark is on a steep hill. WHY don't they have brakes on the trolleys? WHY? It did not make life easy or even dignified to try to haul 50kgs of dynamic lifter into the car when the trolley is hurtling back down towards the shop taking out elderly doddery people as it goes.)

THEN I went to the vet on the way back so that I can DO something about the cat's fleas. Yes. You're correct. Didn't have either brand of flea stuff for cats. But she did helpfully suggest I either a) drove to Asquith to their OTHER vet practice, or b) soaked the cat in flea spray stuff.

Yup. All things considered I was quite polite, but something must've shown, I doubt I'll be getting an invite to her 21st.


sigh.

And just to continue this week's theme...

I simply have to read this... mostly for the cover. But also to find out if her dress does actually fall off. Its defying gravity as is.

Just cos...

Damn You Ebay

How... HOW am I supposed to concentrate on long list of Things To Do when am flogging stuff on ebay?

Yes. In a fit of inspiration I placed the unwanted items from my Shelf Of Negativity on Ebay. And guess what, at last refresh they were earning me $180. Uh huh. $180. I'm as stunned as you. I think its poetic justice at work. The auctions end in about twenty minutes or so, and I'm sitting here hitting F5 like a woman possessed. Actually I've got a tension headache and at this rate there'll be a nosebleed before the end of it.

You know some days I do wish I didn't get so stressed out about everything. Actually, most days I wish that. However, am slowly accepting that I only ever take things in my stride with calm competence when under the influence. Drugs or alcohol, either is fine.

Speaking of stressed out, drove to Leichhardt today. Yes, torrential rain and the WORST roads in Sydney. It was bliss. Especially when I was so busy yelling at the bored screamies that I took a wrong turn and extended the entire ordeal by forty minutes by getting completely lost. Yes I had a map. No I never get lost. But today I just couldn't get it together. I'd consult the map, have it in my mind to take next left then right, but then have a panic and take next right instead. It was awful. This is why I never leave the suburbs. I never get lost in the suburbs. Its clear that I'm not designed for the trendy inner-west. Had to give up on map and ring clever Janine who sorted me out in no time. NOT ONLY was I in search of her old house (they moved years ago) BUT ALSO I was about sixty seconds away and had been for a good twenty minutes of panic-stricken block circling.

sigh.

Three things I'd like to know about supermarkets...

1. WHY is there always a person going in the opposite direction up and down the aisles that gets in your way EVERY SINGLE TIME?
2. WHY does it take me 25 minutes to find the plain tuna amongst all the shi-shi p00-p00 ones with added bits (and that goes for packet soups - just try to find the chicken; and toothpaste).
3. WHERE have they put the apple juice - oh I could find plenty with myrtle flowers in it, or blueberries, but no plain apple juice.
sigh.

Yes its been one of those days.

My feet hurt, I feel like I've been endlessly standing up. Am dementedly tidying the house as Angela our cleaning lady is upon us tomorrow, and I just want to make it so she can actually see the dirt, instead of it hiding below a layer of toys and clothes.

Picking up the Pace

Its been quite a few weeks now since I did any serious writing. It's been a well needed break. But in the last couple of days the urge to get in front of the computer has started to return. I'm still totally and utterly blocked on the plot of The Bunker. I'm not sure I can go on from the point I'm at, so I suspect the solution is going to be to go backwards, ie rewrite.

But, of course The Bunker isn't the only thing going on. I'm starting to work on the promo material for Secret Intentions, the back-cover blurb, tagline, cover art, that sort of thing. The edits are going to arrive at the end of the month as well, which I'm looking forward to. Its been a looong time between books, and I'm keen to get to work on the next project with my excellent editor.

In the meantime I'm tossing up between getting on with All That Glitters and rewriting At the Diplomat's Bidding into a more substantial romantic suspense. I suspect its going to be At The Diplomat's Bidding. Then I can send it off to my erstwhile agenty type person and give the poor girl even more to do.

GITB - Fear

So this week in my Girls in the Basement course we are looking at fear. In her lecture Barbara Samuels talked about how she only really discovered fear when she had children...

And then I had children. And I holed myself up in my house like a
prairie woman waiting out a plague of locusts. The world suddenly seemed
absolutely horrific with danger... I was mainly afraid of anything that
could hurt my children, or hurt me so that they would be motherless or I
couldn't take care of them. It terrified me to discover there was love
like that in the world, love so vast an all-encompassing that I would not
survive the loss of them. I knew I wouldn't.

God. I so know how this feels. And I think the most utterly terrifying part is that the fear NEVER goes away. Being a mother of young children you are constantly on red-alert, even when its me time, there's always that niggle.

And what is even more amazing is that every mother lives with this fear. Its ordinary. Its part of every day life.

See. THIS is why I deserve all the tea-cups money can buy.

Teacups - oh yeaaah baby...

I don't own these, but oh how I wish I did...

Just so you know what I'm talking about when I refer to tea-cups.

My day...

This is how Wednesday 2nd April has been in the Caitlyn Nicholas household.
5.53am - Hubby dissapears to work
6.17am - lurch out of warm snuggy bed in the dark to struggle to computer and bid on sodding teacup in the UK. Get there with 15 seconds to go and lose out.
6.27am - fall over sodding Elmo who starts telling me that he loves me
6.28am - fling sodding Elmo out door
6.29am - sodding dog starts barking
6.30am - Small people wide awake and ready for breakfast ONE HOUR before they usually are - decide I hate ebay.
6.31am - make cup of tea
6.51am - reneg on 'no tv in the morning' policy
7.05am - make cup of tea
7.08am - realise one child is running temperature
8.03am - phone doctor - find out there are no appointments and demand to be put on a waiting list
8.15am - tidy rooms, put on first of seven loads of washing
9.07am - pushing small screamies on swing
9.41am - do deal with teacup chick to get teacup I missed out on yesterday - feel mollified and forgive ebay
10am - curse that children's programs are ending. Spend more time pushing swings. Wonder how the hell the house turned into a pigsty when I tidied it just days ago.
10.01am - unload dishwasher. Load dishwasher. Hang out washing. Put load of washing on containing Miss Bugalugs favourite duck towel. Leave Miss Bugalugs with nose pressed to machine sobbing 'duckie, duckie,' and make cup of tea.
10.07am - ring Mum to complain about ebay and doctor
10.44.am - realise we've got no bread for lunch, decide to make motherly chicken soup with teddy-bear pasta for poorly child
10.30am - Blinds man arrives to measure Miss Bugalugs window - her blind recently went pling and we've been incapable of un-plinging it
11.30am - Blinds man goes, having sadly failed at selling me several security doors and blinds for every naked window we have
11.32am - wood guy arrives to dump wood
11.51am - serve motherly chicken soup which is instantly rejected. Change soup name to teddy-bear soup with teddy-juice and is wolfed down.
11.53am - doctor rings with cancellation
12.30 - finally get everyone into bed for naps
12.35 - replace Miss Bugalugs nappy
12.41 - replace Miss Bugalugs nappy
12.51 - get teary-eyed over photos of clever Janines new bubs - born yesterday arvo - YAY. Idly wonder about having more children, and firmly dismiss idea as insanity. Make cup of tea, do yet another load of washing, hang out more washing, tidy up lunch, watch Dr Phil, long for a housekeeper.
2pm - Wake up everyone to go to doctor
2.03pm -replace Miss Bugalugs nappy
2.30pm - get home from doctor
2.31pm - Dianna arrives with her screamies to play for the afternoon
2.45pm - Cup of tea, bun and excellent gossipping
4.15pm - Roof man arrives to see about possums in roof and leaky bits
4.51pm - Have in-depth conversation about flashings, eaves and whirly-gigs
5.01pm - Hubby phones, running late, thereby scuppering carefully thought out pizza-for-dinner plan
5.02pm - get dinner
5.15pm - do last load of washing
5.35pm - feed everyone
5.40pm - hubby arrives home
6pm - collapse in front of marvellous cooking shows on telly and decide its been a rather long day.
6.51pm - get clothes in off line.
sigh.

I got stuck...

I've been really stuck writing The Bunker. I just couldn't get over the fact the heroine was turning out to be one of those annoying perfect people like you see on CSI:whereever (insert town of choice). Beautiful, brainy, undaunted. God, she was so mind-numbingly boring. Then the plot went tits-up and I couldn't think of a way to fix it, so instead I went on ebay and spent lots of money on useful things like teacups, and the whole thing turned into an impromptu break from doing anything that involved my brain.

Of course since easter we've lurched from disaster to disaster, oh rest assured, that hasn't slowed. Gimme a couple of days to get over processing 300 students scholarships, dealing with our latest virus (in children not computers), being outbid on a teacup I really, really wanted, organising to get the possums out of the roof, wood delivered, Miss Bugalugs blind fixed, cooking, cleaning... You know, the usuals. And I'll give a detailed analysis!