What a difference a week makes. Okay, I promise I am not going to moan and rant about the cold weather, (it is winter after all), but it was bloomin' cold and I hate snow, even if it does look pretty, unless you're shovelling it up. There done!

So, it's been a busy week. When I say busy, I mean that I have now seen Les Miserables twice and cried buckets on both occasions. I'm off to see it again this week with my bessie friend. Yes people, it is a fantastic film. It does Victor Hugo's book justice. Okay, you could argue that it simplifies the story somewhat. Hugo's novel is 900 plus pages and there is a lot going on. However, if you take out Hugo's wonderful explanations about history and observations on society and its people, well, you are left with a novel about love, faith and hope. And those are the things that make the world go round and life worth living...aren't they?

I also adhere to the belief that if you can use film and media to get people reading, or even interested in picking up a Kindle or a book, then it is worth it. Films such as Les Miserables have a big impact on peoples' reading habits, particularly the young. I'm not saying that Hugo's work is the easiest to read, but if you stick with it, it takes you on a fantastic historical and social journey through the wonderful characters and their trials and tribulations.

And isn't that what we writers aim to achieve? To give their audience a moment, however brief, to lose themselves in the story so painstakingly and lovingly created?

I spent most of my writing time this week editing the first 1,000 words of my latest romance novel so that I could submit an entry to a competition. The prize is the publication of the novel. As I was crossing out and then adding, then repeating the process all over again, I couldn't help but think about how much the language and style of writing has changed since Monsieur Hugo's day.

I love reading - a must for a writer- but I sometimes feel sad that a lot of todays books are, well, small. I'm not saying that they aren't well written or that they don't engage...they do. What I am saying, is that there is just something so wonderful in the works of  Tolstoy, Austen, Dickens, Hugo, Joyce, Bronte et al. Okay, I am a self confessed book snob and love a book that cold prop open 10 doors in one go.

And so I suppose I should head back into my little world of creativity and see if I can blast out a few more words. In the coming weeks, I am hoping to have more work to show you.  Until then, I would be interested to know what you think? What's your favourite book? Your favourite classic? Do you like little books or doorstoppers?




 
Well, great excitement is in the air. Yes, I'm talking about snow!!! Did you really think I was talking about the long awaited film based on Monsieur Hugo's fantastic novel?  The one I have been so excited about seeing since last year? (yes, I know that wasn't all that long ago!).

To be honest, I hate snow. No, that's not true. I love looking at it when I am curled up in front of the fire with a good book and a glass of fine merlot or cup of hot chocolate. I can even be tempted to go for a walk in the pristine stuff but I hate being cold. Just the thought of it makes me want to turn up the thermostat on the radiator.

Of course, apart from nipping to the local cinema to view Les Miserables this week, me thinks it is going to be a week to lock myself away in my study with my muse. I have a lot of editing to do but, guess what?...

Yup, you got it, my overactive brain is telling me to choose one of my lovely A4 notepads from the shelf, pick up my pen and start writing a fresh story.

There is something so exciting, so cathartic about opening a pad and putting the first pen strokes on that pristine white page. I have never been one for writing straight onto the pc. In fact, I find it difficult to be inspired when I look at a blank pc screen with the cursor flashing as though it is tapping its foot in impatience for me to get on with it.

Call me old fashioned but I love the feel and sound of a pen scratching and flowing across the page as my imagination casts me off into a world of make believe. In fact I get so carried way that, quite often when I come to read my words as I am typing them up and editting, I can't decipher some of the barely legible scrawl.

So, tell me, are you like me? Or with all this technology, do you prefer to type your first drafts? Or have you trained yourself to do that? I would be interested to know.

Also, here's something that people might be able to help me with...

I am pretty new to blogging and am considering having guest bloggers on my site. Does anyone know how this works? If so, any help or advice would be much appreciated. And if you would like to be a guest blogger well, even better.

TTFN

 
Well, 2013 has started with a flourish. In this last week I have posted out two short story competition entries, scribbled a few ideas for future projects and finished editing my erotic anthology. Okay, it still needs some tightening, and the characters in two of the stories are behaving, or misbehaving, in the way I don't want them to, but I thought you might like to read an excerpt from one of the stories I am happy with.

The Fantasy Girl anthology features Eleanor, a girl who will act out your fantasy for a price. Unfortunately for her, that price comes at the expense of love and commitment....or does it?

I'm hoping to publish this some time in March, and have ideas for more in the series. Until then, enjoy this sneak peek and feel free to leave any comments....




                                                                   THE EDITOR
    Eleanor felt sorry for Daniel.
    It must be so difficult caring for someone with whom you've shared your life ands dreams with for the best part of twenty years, knowing that, from now on, they will be trapped in a damaged body. Eleanor admired him for that. He hadn't turned and run like a lot of men would. At least like most of the men she knew.
    She lay naked on the bed and watched as he stripped out of his clothes, meticulously folding each item and placing it on the chair.
    When she had told her flat mate about Daniel, Sue had cried. Most men would have jumped at the chance to indulge in numerous affairs. Daniel's disabled wife had issued him a free pass to fulfil his needs elsewhere. He could do so with a guilt free conscience.
    Not Daniel.
    He had needs, but he loved his wife more. That's why he needed her - The Fantasy Girl. He didn't want role-playing or fantasy sex. His fantasy, if that's what it could be called, was much simpler. He just wanted some good, old-fashioned loving. He needed to connect. To feel whole again. Above all, he needed the company of a woman who could make him feel like a man in the most basic of ways.
    Eleanor fondled her bare breasts and dipped her head, flicking her tongue over one of her nipples. Daniel joined her on the bed and lightly squeezed the other. He had soft hands. Warm hands. Gentle hands.
    Once, Eleanor had found a lump in one of her breasts. The consultant at the breast clinic had had hands like Daniel. Only she knew that Daniel wasn't a doctor. He was an editor for a well-known publishing company.
    That was why they always had to meet in this little hotel on the outskirts of town. Once, occasionally twice, a month he would call and arrange to see her. Some times they would spend the time talking without even having sex. Often, like now, Daniel didn't really want to talk. He just wanted to fuck. It really was as simple as that.......