It was almost impossible to see where I was walking in the woods today due to the dazzling light. I should have worn sun glasses! The breezes drifting up from the calm ocean had an icy edge, and I suspect that tonight the temperature will plummet. The chill hadn't prevented half the local population from heading out for a walk, though. Perhaps they too were escaping from the dismal TV. The dogs love the woods, of course; there's a whole world of scent which is closed to human noses. Ygraine investigated a small puddle and discovered it was deeper than she'd anticipated. A lot deeper. I've just finished reading David Hunt's  The Magician's Tale , which I thoroughly enjoyed. Crime isn't my usual genre, but I found myself eagerly turning the pages of this well-written tale of a photojournalist who is gathering material for a project about male prostitutes in San Francisco. When her favourite model is murdered, the protagonist sets out to solve the crime.

However you celebrate Yule, I hope you have a great time! The house is quieter again now. Richard's upstairs playing with his new toy, a gadget which records old LP records onto CD--some of those ancient albums are too valuable to play now, he says, especially his original Queen and similar. The market value of these things not something I know anything about. And Cat's just set off for home--her shared student home--and in the morning her father will collect her and drive her home for the Xmas break from Uni. She's already talking about studying for a PhD. She's got to get this BsC first! And then a full-time job (rather than the part-time waitress job she already has.) I'm pleased she's aiming towards a constructive goal; at her age, I hadn't a clue what I wanted to do--not due to a lack of interests but because I had so many. I had no idea how to specialise in just one interest when so many diverse and seemingly contradictory subjects held appeal. P

Two friends have complained about writer’s block within the space of one week. They wanted to know how I get around this problem. Well, the truth is that writer’s block is not something I have a problem with, so it could be fairly argued that I’m not the best person to seek advice from. On the other hand, as it isn’t an issue for me, perhaps I’m doing something right--or, more accurately, something which works. Writer’s block does not exist outside a person’s own mind. If you’re bored with your story, how do think a reader might feel? Set aside the piece you’re working on and write something else. You can always come back to the original piece another time. To get into the creative flow, try a writing exercise such as the monthly projects we set at Riverside Writers. Members are asked to create a poem or short story (of any length or genre) on a theme such as a location, a phrase or object, an opening sentence, or we might use an unusual photograph as a starting point. Those wh

Ooow, busy day... First I wrote the first draft of a 1,500 shorty for Riverside Writers' latest project which is on the theme of "the punch bowl"--so my tale of an office party is called simply Punch . Next, the bedraggled hedge in our (freezing cold and distinctly soggy) front garden was returned to order with our strimmer. As I was working, our neighbour drove up in her car so I asked if she minded if I step into her front garden so I could trim both sides of the shared hedge level. She readily agreed. It looked a mess left uneven, so I did it for my own benefit. I left the trimmings strewn on her lawn. She and her two adult sons do have complete sets of fully functioning limbs, after all. *chuckles* Then I tackled stray dust bunnies under the dressing table, and retrieved the remains of the shredded paper bag which Emily had dismantled under our bed. I even used the stinky "lemon" furniture polish which smells like how marmalade on burned toast tastes.

I've got two pairs of socks on, and some leg warmers, and my feet are still freezing! It's a hazard of sitting in front of this computer for too long. Anyway, editing work on Tamsin continues, and chapter 12 brings the total word count so far to 33,250. This afternoon I'll be dodging rain showers to go to the village. We need a few bits for the kitchen, and as I'll be seeing friends tomorrow there's a small present to find. There has been no snow here at all, despite the gloom-laden weather forecasts on TV! Fancy them shutting schools yesterday, just for an inch or so of snow. As a child, my friends and I walked the mile to junior school through knee-deep drifts of snow, and then home again later (at the usual time) - every winter. Softies! (Am I now turning into Victor Meldrew? Will my next statement be a lament about having coped with twelve hours down the coal pit before walking over the ice-bound hills in bare feet to do another twelve hours in t'owd co

My Computer Is Dead! Long Live My Computer! When, for the second time in one month, my five year-old puuter puttered out, I gave up dithering and bought a new one. And here it is, purring away quietly before me. The monitor displays the right colours. And the tower actually switches on--always a bonus!!! I renegotiated my ISP contract and got a free upgraded modem, a better telephone calls package, and at £11 per month less. My hair is in shock; I've just come back from the salon, having had 4" taken off the length. It's still way below my shoulders, but looks thicker and has more movement now. My usual stylist has moved to Gran Canaria, so I had to risk trying another--which I hate doing, as the amount of hairdressers who can't cut long hair properly is exasperating, but this new stylist has done a good job. The village pond was partially frozen over yesterday! I'd put the dogs' woollen coats on them, as the wind coming off the sea was bitter. Emily a