Dream a little dream
So I’ve finally cracked open my Writers’ Yearbook. I don’t know why, but the mere sight of it is intimidating and fills me with a peculiar sense of dread and foreboding. Strange, huh? Or maybe not? Just thinking of the 800 pages of publishers, agents, advice and industry feedback feels like 800 pages of rejection. Pathetic, but right now I can boast I’ve written a book and take a small amount of pride in the accomplishment, however meagre it may prove. Once I take the plunge and road test it with the professionals it’s no longer a dream, but a reality facing some hard truths. It could fail. I could fail. It’s a comfort to harbour the dream, to keep it just so, neat and untarnished in its little compartment of my psyche. It...
Trick or treatin’
My boys and I went on holiday last week for Halloween, visiting the fam in good ole ATL for some proper trick-or-treating American style. With every house in my old neighbourhood bedecked with orange lights, cotton spider webbing stretched across buxus shrubbery, white sheets disguised as ghosts dangling from trees as though hovering in mid-air and jack-o- lanterns greeting you at every doorstep it goes without saying (but I will anyway), when we do Halloween, we go BIG. Yes, we, I’m still American despite my 12 years and counting in Blighty. It was a welcome time away where I enjoyed my sugar-injected American cereals, cheese grits, sweet tea and proper peanut butter. It’s the little things I miss. My eldest was the Gruffalo’s Child and more...
