Once upon a time, I had a lovely novel rejected (in fact I’ve had multiple novels rejected more than once at several times, but that’s not important right now). This novel had got me an agent. It had got me a lunch with an editor (Pizza Express, no less, and
Remember Wolverine in X-Men, shooting those wickedly sharp blades through his knuckles? ‘Does it hurt?’ Rogue asks anxiously. ‘Every time,’ Wolverine replies. Rejection is tough. It hurts. Every time. And of course, it’s your own fault, because you just keep trying. But there are things to be said, and it
Today was meant to be peaceful. I went to bed very late last night, but it means that everything is ready. The in laws are on their way; the fridge has been emptied, cleaned and refilled with all the ingredients filed in meal order. I’ve done enough in advance that
There’s a rather salty shepherd’s pie ready for lunch. There’s a pheasant casserole for dinner, and a birthday cake whose decoration is the sole preserve of child 2. The pigs are in their blankets, the red cabbage and apple is ready, there is home made ice cream and home made
So. London. We got the cheese, and we had hot chocolate and croissants in the café opposite the cheese shop and watched whole pigs being delivered to the butcher next door. We went to the Tate Modern and found a whole wall covered in deep pile orange carpet, in which
James has a little car, a single fingernail with which he clings to life pre-children. It gets very little use, partly because James works hard and doesn’t actually like going out without the children, and partly is battery is mostly flat, so taking it out involves an hour or two
The Financial Times says ‘at least nine,’ the Guardian goes with a definitive ’12 killed.’ A truck ploughed into a Christmas market in Berlin and people are dead. Paris, then Nice, and now Berlin. The German interior minister says, ‘We don’t yet have anything conclusive regarding the circumstances and the
Dear God Thank you for your letter yesterday. I’d like you to know that the car is going in for its MOT tomorrow and that the cranberry sauce didn’t burn. I’ve already given gingerbread snowflakes to the reception staff at the health centre and the pharmacy staff, and to the
Dear Antonia I’ve tried really hard to chat to you recently. It seems to me that you’ve got being busy confused with being necessary. I’ve given you some good words – better, even, than Donald Trump’s, although the day you match ‘unpresidented,’ I’ll make you a bestseller (note to self:
Apparently, when you perform to a positive reaction, neural pathways form in your brain, so that next time you perform, you’re primed for that positive reaction and consequently produce fewer of the horrible chemicals that make your hands shake and more of the good ones that give your performance an