The pond is still partially frozen. This doesn't seem to be troubling the ducks and geese at all. The dogs enjoyed snuffling through mounds of soggy leaves in the wood, of course. Horses have been brought to the neighbouring field, among them an adorable Shetland pony--chocolate brown with a caramel-coloured tail and mane. They thundered up to the wire fence to say hello. The dogs were on leads, of course, kept out of the reach of the horses' hooves. Later I walked into the village for a few odds and ends from the supermarket, and to pick up Richard's prescription from the medical centre. He's been having a lot of migraines lately. They seem to go in cycles; he'll get a run of them, then they'll calm down again. The staff know him by sight, whereas I have only needed the doctor once since we moved to the area, eight-and-a-half years ago. Earlier today I did more work on Turning Tides . I'd written it once already, but my old puuter ate it when it died. S

One of my Dark Fantasy stories has been nominated for the Preditors & Editors Readers Poll 2009 Award. Called Old World Magic , this was featured in   Ruins Metropolis , an anthology published by Hadley Rille Books. In this tale, a visit to her local New Age shop brings Tracy into conflict with the notorious fae of Caldy Hill, Wirral. Vote for my story here:- http://www.critters.org/predpoll/shortstorysf.shtml Nominations are listed by story title, in alphabetical order. Voting closes on January 14th, 2009.

...Another year, that is. And yikes what a chilly start! I'm wearing four layers and I'm still cold. Stew for tonight's dinner--which I'm not looking forward to as I loathe stew, but there was little else I could do with the mountain goat which was supposed to have been lamb. Lamb?!! A howling chainsaw would have struggled to make an indent on that thing. Bleeeurch!! Here's hoping my culinary efforts can render it tolerable. Tamsin is finished; all edits done. Unless a publisher wants any changes to be made, it will now remain as it is for all time. The final full-stop is in place. And the word-count now stands at 85,000 words, which is only 1,000 less than on the previous draft. Now I'll begin editing Rowan , which I'm looking forward to doing, actually. Plus there are two short stories on the back-boiler, and I need to start thinking about what to do with Bethany Rose , as last year I wrote 50,000 words of that before admitting that I hated the

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.