Amazing Grace - finally

I am delighted to say that Amazing Grace is finally published. It should be available on Smashwords today and other sites, eg Barnes and Noble, Apple and Kobo, within a short while.

Thanks everyone for their patience, and I hope the final novel in the Resurrection trilogy, Sanctifying Grace, won't take so long!

Time and tide, etc - part 4

Funny noises. That's another problem with growing older. And it's not just confined to humans, either.
You know you are aging when you start making that sighing grunt of satisfaction when you sit down. My dog, who is ten, does it too. She never used to when she was younger, but the older she's getting the more she grunts when she sits down. And I have caught myself doing it too!

Then there's the echo of that same noise when you get up out of your seat, only this time it is more of a straining noise than a grunt. My dog sometimes does that too.

And I'm not going to mention snoring because I'm asleep so I don't know anything about it and I swear hubby is making it up.

Wide awake in the middle of the night and I started to think random thoughts, as one does. This time is was about skin. Or rather, our lack of a fur coat. A real one that is, not the type that is stolen from other animals.
What I was actually thinking was, why have humans lost most of their fur / hair. All we have are a few remnants scattered in places that don't do alot of good.

Ok, so the hair on my head keeps me warm, but what about my feet? they get really cold! they could so with a smattering of hairs  - although the Hobbit look would not go well with sandals.
At what point did we lose our fur and nature thought it was a good idea to let us wander around with absolutely no protection? Our skin is really thin for a mammal. I think we are the only species that can be threatened by a sheet of paper (ever get a paper cut - painful ain't it!)

If you've walked through an overgrown field with only a pair of shorts for protection then you will know that we are woefully equipped to deal with even the slightest scratch from a twig or bramble.

Why???? Evolution sure can be weird.

Just like it

There is a fantastic series on British TV written by a fellow Taff by the name of Ruth Jones. The series is 'Stella' and is set in a small village in the Welsh valleys.

If you want to get a feel for what life is like in the area I grew up in, and where 'Two in a Bed' is set (as is my current manuscript 'The Astronaut and The Baglady') please watch it. Although not my village, Pontyberry reflects all the villages in the high valleys - they appear to be interchangeable, with only the subtlest of differences.

You not only get a feel for the atmosphere and location, but Ms Jones is a fantastic scriptwriter and she has captured the essence of the people she knows so well. I cry with laughter at each new episode and I recognise every character as someone I know personally. (And yes, we really do speak like that - apart from 'Daddy', that is: no-one speaks like him!)

Conspiracy theory

This mightn't be in the same league as 'did man really land on the moon', 'Area 51, or 'was Princess Diana's death intentional', but I'm convinced that something is conspiring against me.

Take yesterday for instance - and this reflects most days lately. My other half went out for a long run in the morning and was planning to watch the rugby at father-in-law's house in the afternoon. Because the child was away for the weekend I planned to use this alone time to do a serious chunk of writing. Then the estate agents called to say we had a viewing on our house, so the morning 'alone-time' was spent in a frantic whirl of cleaning and tidying. Just as I finished that and actually managed to get a pen in my hand (my lucky pink one, no less), my mum called in tears because she had a water leak.

I spent the afternoon 'alone-time' mopping up water in both senses of the word.

Ever get the feeling that someone somewhere is laughing their socks off? Either that or fate does not want my current manuscript to get written.

Ah well, there's always tomorrow..... ever the optimist, me.

Time and tide, etc - part 3

It's not that when you reach a certain age you start to let things slide a little - it's just that you can't imagine that you need to do it again so soon.
Confused (you will be, believe me!). Take shaving one's legs for instance. I was sat in the bath last night when I realised that my legs needed doing again. Desperately. In fact, it looked like I hadn't shaved them for about six weeks, when in fact I could have sworn that I had given them a going over with hubby's razor only two days ago.
Now there are a couple of explanations for this:

• I have time travelled into the future - but only by a small amount.
• My hair grows at the speed of light - but not on my head.

In reality the reason is partly to do with the time-travel thing, because as you get older time speeds up. I'm sure many of you have noticed this exact same thing, although probably not in relation to the hair on your legs. It's more likely that you say 'I can't believe it's Christmas again already - where had the last year gone!', and things like that.

So next time I venture out with  a jungle sprouting on my legs, it's not because I don't care enough to rid myself of this growth - it's because in my mind I only shaved last night.

Time and tide, etc - part 2

Flexibility. Now there's a word that strikes terror into my wooden limbs.
I used to be able to bend over and touch my toes with ease. In fact, I could get my elbows on the floor, I was that stretchy.

Those days are long gone. I can just get past my knees at a push, and if I try that at anything more than a snail's pace then my back and the muscles in my legs grizzle about it for several days afterwards.

I also have trouble turning my head to see over my shoulder. When, exactly did that happen?
One minute I could reverse the car without needing to use my mirrors and the next I find that I have to swivel most of my upper torso in order to see behind me because my head seems fused in a facing forward position - yes, fellow middle agers, you know precisely what I mean.