Round up of my 2017

Gingerbread wombats

I decided not to do my usual top ten reads this year (they are ubiquitous so you will have plenty of good reading ideas from other readers and writers!) but I think the book that stands out the most for me this year is Yvvette Edwards' The Mother.  I read it early in the year and it has stayed with me, which is my criterion for a good book! A close second is Isabel Costello's Paris Mon Amour. 

2017 started with my daughter setting off on her journey to Melbourne, Australia where she and her husband have relocated. The year is ending with me visiting their lovely new home to experience a summer Christmas. We have been shopping in the sun, watching people in shorts, T-shirts and sandals walk past jolly Santas and plastic snowmen to the accompaniment of Christmas carols! That felt quite strange.

We looked at the Christmas tree in Federation Square just metres away from the the crossing at Flinders Street Station where a few days later the terrible attack took place. Christmas will be difficult for those who were injured and I join millions in thinking of them and their families and wishing them all a speedy recovery.

My mother died last January and I am missing being able to tell her about her granddaughter's new home and job in the country where she was born. I want to be able to tell her her about the sights and experiences I have encountered in the past two weeks because I know she would have loved hearing about it.

On a happier note, my writing journey has been quite exciting this year. The first good news in January was that I had won the Great British Write Off with a flash fiction piece. Soon after I was longlisted in Reflex Fiction's first flash fiction competition. I've also had a few pieces in Ad Hoc's weekly competitions - although no wins.

In July I won the Senior Travel Writing competition and have had acceptances for two of my short stories, one for inclusion in the Stories for Homes 2 anthology and, last month, the news that I had won the short story section of Hysteria's latest competition which is published in the Hysteria 6 anthology.

Inevitably there have been plenty of submissions that have got nowhere, but the number of submissions was over three times that of last year and my highest number of submissions in a year ever which feels like a small achievement in itself.

The travel experiences which inspired the Senior Travel win included some of my 2017 travels; a brief stay in Bruges, a fascinating trip to Uzbekistan and a week in Catalonia during the recent political upheavals.

In my professional life, I decided to take slightly early retirement from my career as a specialist speech and language therapist after nearly 40 years of working in the NHS. I have to say so far retirement has been  a fabulous experience, although I do miss my colleagues (and some of my patients!) However, I did get to meet up with a dear friend and ex-colleague, here in Melbourne, last week.

Here's to a peaceful Christmas to all of you whether you celebrate it or not.

Hysteria 6 Anthology

I am delighted that my story, Still Life, won the Hysteria short story competition and is published in the 6th Hysteria Anthology. This, along with the five previous anthologies, is full of stories, flash fiction and poems from many writers whose work I have read and hold in high esteem so I feel honoured to be among them. This year's winning flash fiction is Stephanie Hutton's You Don't Have to Talk About Your Daddy in Counselling if You Don't Want To. The winning poem is Jane Doe #503 by Sarah Jane Potts.

My story is one I started many years ago - it's been tweaked quite a bit since then but one scene that stayed pretty much intact is the scene in the artist's studio.

The house and its studio was based on that of my grandmother-in-law. One of her daughters was also an artist and has work exhibited in various galleries including two in Cornwall where the family spent a lot of time in the artists' colony in the 1930s. The characters in the story, however, are all from my imagination.

Almond Tree in Blossom by Bonnard

The tree mentioned in the story is an apple tree but it was Bonnard's almond tree which inspired it. There used to be a street tree on my road that reminded me of this picture. It was so beautiful and its early flowering of delicate pink flowers in late January or early February was always the harbinger of a long awaited spring. The council cut it down. Like the tree in my story it will live forever in my mind!

The anthology is now available in e-book format from Amazon  and in print directly from The Hysterectomy Association .

Launch of paperback edition of Stories for Homes 2

As winter approaches and grey days loom, there's nothing I like so much as settling down with a cup of coffee and a good book, grateful for a cosy home to call my own.

Stories for Homes 2 aims to help make that a possibility for those who don't have a home or whose homes are substandard, by supporting the charity, Shelter.

The 55 stories and poems in the anthology relate to the theme of 'home' but the concept is interpreted in many different ways, making this a collection with wide appeal.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, when the e-book version was launched, I am thrilled to have my story, The Importance of Shoelaces, in this collection. It sits alongside stories from many authors I admire and now I've had a chance to read, and in some cases re-read, all the stories, I feel even more honoured that mine was selected. I've also discovered new writers whose work I will follow. The writing styles are varied and the themes thought provoking, sad, funny and cosy in turn.

I remember way back when I was a child hearing the buzz about a shocking TV play called Cathy Come Home. It was shocking because it featured the issue of homelessness, and related problems which didn't get much of an airing in those days until Ken Loach came along. I didn't actually see the play until a few years later and I saw it again on it's fiftieth anniversary last year when it was shown on TV,  around the same time Loach's latest film I, Daniel Blake was also released. Sadly, homelessness has not improved in the intervening fifty years. Co-incidentally the charity Shelter was launched just a few days after Cathy Come Home was first aired, although the two were not linked.

Stories for Homes 2 will not only give you an interesting read but your purchase will enable Shelter to benefit as well. Win-win!

There are a number of live events to launch this collection into the world, including a slot at Rae Stoltenkamp's book launch, mentioned in the previous post on this blog, so do get to one if you can. See the details here. The anthology is also available to buy online here.

No Souvenirs, Sorry. A guest post from writer Rae Stoltenkamp.

Rae Stoltenkamp

Knowing my penchant for travel, Rae, who I met at my first writing class over ten years ago, has taken time off from her novel writing to pen a post about her travel ethos.

No Souvenirs, Sorry.

I love travelling. For me it’s all about experiencing the place I’m in: the food, people, scenery, vibe…  In a perfect world I’d go on holiday twice, even thrice a year. I’d go somewhere different every time, because how can I experience cultures of the world if I only stick to one place?  Admittedly, I’ve gone back to Italy time and again. A girl’s allowed her weaknesses. 

My list of places to visit is as long as my books to-read pile is high.  For this situation I blame the international gang who make up my friendship group, and Bill Bryson.  To date my friends hale from Hong Kong, Poland, Canada, New Zealand, Australia, South Africa, France, Switzerland, USA, Brazil, Italy… I think you get the gist. So it stands to reason they want me to know the wonders of their own particular patch. And I confess, they don’t exactly have to twist my arm to make me want to visit.

But that Bill Bryson – he started me thinking about weekend jaunts as well as longer holidays. Him I totally blame for my now insatiable desire to hop over to places like Bruges, Vienna and Berlin for a quick taster.  As soon as the royalties from my self-publishing moves into regular double figures on a monthly basis, I know where I’ll be heading.

I don’t mind travelling alone as I write when I’m away and this can be a touch irritating to companions who are not writers. In recent years I’ve taken to travelling with my good friend Bev, also a writer so doesn’t mind my writerly ways. As we generally have similar interests it’s also great for shared excursions. As I get older I’ve found I want to do the shared holiday experience more and more. I like having someone to plan daily events with and if I go off to do something on my own, I can then come back to the holiday-let and narrate the day’s tales.

I usually post to my blog or Facebook page when travelling as this serves as a kind of travelogue. It’s become a pretty standard thing for me to do now. I often look back on these posts, reminisce and relive the best bits of the holiday. It takes armchair travelling to a whole other level.

The one downside of being self-employed is that I don’t get to travel as much as when I had a regular, stable income. So when I’m on the move I don’t want to be weighed down by a collection of souvenirs for friends and family. I want to spend the time taking photos of eye catching scenes, eating food never eaten before, visiting locations heard of or read about in books. I want to fully immerse myself in the experience rather than worrying I’ve not got the right pressie for Aunty B or searching round for the next souvenir shop.

Sometimes I buy an item of clothing or jewellery from the place I’ve visited so the next time I wear it I can remember where I got it and what I was doing at the time. I have a pair of black trousers I bought in Milan in 1996 which are still going strong. Chopsticks from the 100 Yen shop while visiting Japan in 2008 are regularly used when I make either Chinese or Thai food. These are the only souvenirs I’m interested in along with the copious photographs I take. So friends, family - no souvenirs. Sorry.

Rae publishes her new YA book When Rainbows Cry in early December, the second in the series following Where Rainbows Hide. For more information on Rae's novels take a look at her website.

Follow Rae at:

https://raestoltenkamp.com/

http://raestoltenkamp.blogspot.co.uk/

https://twitter.com/Raedenewrites

https://www.facebook.com/raestoltenkamp.author

The Launch of: Stories for Homes 2.

The second Stories for Homes anthology is available from today as an e-book and can be ordered here.

Following the success of the first anthology, writers were invited to donate a story for its follow up volume. I'm delighted that one of my stories is among the 55 selected from 256 that were submitted for the current edition.

With a given theme of home, writers could interpret this how they wished and as result the stories are a rich mixture; sad; funny; hard-hitting; and cosy. To put it more coherently, I quote Emma Darwin: "A cornucopia of witty, tragic, elegant, raw, heart-warming and terrifying stories that take the idea of Home, play with it as only truly talented writers can, and all to help those who have no home at all." 

The hard work (lots and lots of it) behind the scenes was (and still is) co-ordinated by Debi Alper and Sally Swingewood  ably assisted by Rachel Dunlop and Jacquleine Ward who have all done a tremendous job.

All the proceeds from this and the previous anthology go to the charity Shelter.   

We know how important this charity is but I've taken some quotations from their website:

• 150 families are made homeless in Britain every day. 
• With so many families becoming homeless the number of calls to our helpline from people in need of emergency accommodation has risen by 7,244 in the past year alone. That’s a rise of 10%.
• More than four million families are one missed pay cheque away from losing their home. We need to be there to answer their call, but to do that we need your support.

So please do buy a copy, or two or three, of the anthology. There are stories by some really excellent authors, ones whose company I am very proud to be in, so this won't simply be a good deed for the day, you'll enjoy it too. I'll also be waiting for the print version, coming soon, because I really want this on my bookshelf, except of course, when I'm reading it. I'm thinking Christmas presents too!

Forget Bournemouth, How About Samarkand?

The Ladies of Samarkand

I love travelling and I love writing so it's fortunate when the two are combined! I wrote this little piece and submitted it to a travel competition for Senior Travel Expert's website and was declared joint winner. You can read it here. 

I found the competition on Patsy Collins' very useful blog: Words about writing and writing about words.  I suggest you read it!

In Samarkand there were many stunning mosques, madrassahs, mausoleums and museums but for me it was the people, like the ladies above, who made the place. They took photos of us too.


I've posted some photos from some other places mentioned in my piece

Stonetown, Zanzibar

 In Stonetown I found a cafe, overlooking the sea, perfect for writing, although I didn't actually write there. I did have some great coffee though which is quite a writerly activity.

They taught us their songs too.

The school in The Gambia, where we taught the children the song, 

Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes,
soon erupted into chaos as they decided to teach us one of their songs. 

It was a little more energetic than we bargained for! 
Order was eventually restored.

Khiva, Uzbekistan.

The rooftops of Khiva are a beautiful site and well worth the climb up a tower to see them. The minaret featured really is leaning a bit. Some intrepid travellers climbed up that too, but I preferred to avoid achey knees and spent the time looking at an exhibition of photos by Uzbekistan's first professional photographer which provided a fascinating account of this country.

Delicious?

A delicious selection of fried insects and arachnids in Cambodia!  They are becoming quite popular in expensive 'designer' restaurants now in Europe. One of my travelling companions ate a whole tarantula. I managed only a leg and got furry bits stuck in my teeth. We lived to tell the tale.

The Road to Mandalay.

The road to Mandalay was long and winding. Unexpected festivals blocked the way with traffic jams comprising buses, bullock carts and motorbikes but who cared, we just joined in.

PS: I'm aware the font changed. No matter how many time I tried to adjust, it wouldn't work.

When should we give up?

I don't mean giving up on writing, but when should we give up on a particular story?

Like most short story writers I've submitted to competitions and magazines and like many of us, have received more rejections than acceptances. I've resubmitted several pieces elsewhere and have sometimes received more welcome news, with a placement or even a prize.  This has often come on the story's 3rd or 4th outing. Some were resubmitted after a few tweaks, a couple went exactly as they were.

But what about those stories which (I almost said 'who') have been rejected or relegated to the non-long-list pile several times. Obviously one can re-read, examine for flaws and re-write, but when any form of success seems light-years away, what then?

We all know success isn't just about having a good, well-written story, it's also about finding the right magazine or competition. It's also about a bit, or probably quite a lot, of luck. Magazines might be a little more predictable as they give guidelines for submissions, but competitions are a trickier beast.

We are frequently advised to read previous winning stories and if these are readily available online are well worth checking out. Sometimes, though, it means purchasing an anthology, some of which come with fairly hefty price tags. There's a limit to how many we can buy but I guess if we are focusing on specific competitions, this would be money well spent.  But although the long-listers and short-listers may be the same readers, many annual competitions have a different judge each year so unless we can find previous winners selected by this judge we may still be in the dark as to what hits their prize winning criteria.

I've done my fair share of research. I read the winning stories and often think 'Wow, a worthy winner.' but I also find that many competitions select writing that I find quite bleak. I note that most of my winning or listed stories, especially flash fiction, have been my starker examples and that's not my favourite writing style. It's not that I want to write only cosy little stories, indeed, a couple of the lighter stories I've submitted to women's magazine have been considered too downbeat, and one happy-ending story which featured a main character who was physically disabled was deemed 'not suitable.'

So, where to go from here?  To search out new competitions? To rewrite the rejected stories? To keep submitting as they are? Or quietly put them to bed?  I've done all four.

What do you do in face of rejections?

2,000 books

In November 1984 I decided, for a reason I no longer recall, to make a note of all the books I read. I wrote them down in a fat notebook along with a 1-5 star rating. Some were so good they got a 6. I also noted whether the book was my own, a library book or borrowed. By December 2012 I had to employ a new notebook. To date, I have read and recorded 2,000 books.

How I wish I had noted all those prior to November 1984, but two thousand books later I look back at my choices. They include fiction of course, plays, memoir, biographies, books of short stories and non-fiction including travel literature, but I left out textbooks relating to work or my degree.

Classics have featured throughout - from re-reads of Jane Austen and Thomas Hardy novels that I loved in my teen years to those new to me which I studied in the years I did a degree in Literature (for fun) which included Germinal, Middlemarch, and Fathers and Sons. I didn't record all the plays I studied including ten Shakespeare plays and some of Aphra Behn's, probably because I didn't read every singe word! I am nothing if not honest!

Can I remember all these books? Of course not. I often pick lighthearted books when I'm coping with a difficult patch in life as they provide not only a means of escape but add the rose-coloured tint that life sometimes needs. I may not always remember them but I enjoy them while I'm reading which makes them as valuable as those that are more memorable. One such, I can't recall which, was quite a fun read but I was shocked to find a passage in it which I'd read before. Was this blatant plagiarism? No, I was reading a book I'd read about four years previously but had remembered none of it except this particular amusing scene.

My reading style has changed - when younger I always persisted with a book, even if it was a 1-star, providing I'd got past the first chapter, but now I'll abandon it - at my age, life is too short to read something I don't enjoy or value. For that reason I - rather appropriately - abandoned The Days of Abandonment by Elena Ferrante. The book is not in my 2,000 count. I persisted for a while but I had no time for the main character, a vile woman who, in my view, deserved her abandonment. I also found the book unnecessarily crude to the point of vulgarity and I'm pretty sure reading to the end wouldn't have changed my mind! People rave about this author but so far I haven't attempted any others as this foray was so unpleasant.

My recent top reads, if you are curious, appear in my final blog of each year since 2012

Just leafing through my old notebook, which is falling to bits, I see 5 star ratings included Bill Bryson's Notes From a Small Island, Jonathan Smith's Summer in February (December 96) I didn't rate the subsequent film as 5 stars though, Amitav Ghosh's The Glass Palace (May 07), Michael Cunninghams's The Hours  (February 02) Alice Walker's The Color Purple, which was a re-read for my degree, and William Broderick's A Whispered Name (July 09). Jung Chang's Wild Swans, which I read in July 1998, earned 6 stars.

One noticeable difference is that my earlier reading included more library books than bought books (both new and second-hand.) I had less money to spend on books with a small child to look after when I started my log but I think this also reflects that in recent years there have been fewer books in my local library and especially fewer books suiting my taste than there used to be. On my last visit to the much depleted library since it was recently made much smaller, I could find nothing at all that I wanted to read. How sad. I think Waterstones' 3 for 2 offers (how I miss them) were also responsible for increased purchases in the later years. These days I attend more book events and invariably buy a book or two or three, so increasing my own book stock!

Bought or borrowed (but never stolen) here's to the next 2000 so I'd better get cracking to fit them all in.

How to Organize a Hen Party. (Or Not.)

A review for novel about a hen party. What do I know about them? My generation didn't go in for hen parties - or if they did, I was never invited to any when my contemporaries were getting married - so the first I attended was for a younger friend about 11 years ago. No pink sashes or plastic tiaras, it was a rather sophisticated three-parter with the 'hens' invited to join any or all parts. I attended only the evening do with a lovely meal and an amazing selection of cocktails. It was all very decorous and wouldn't have made a very interesting novel. The backstory was romantic though. The bride's journey to her marriage involved a meeting of minds on her travels in her late 30s with subsequent meetings at locations between Australia and UK with Barcelona being the decision spot! She went to live in Australia with her new partner but her wedding was here in UK at the church her parents and grandparents had married in. A smiling, radiant bride-to-be, she said 'I never thought this was going to happen for me.'

The second hen party I went to was my daughter's. Her romance also involved a meeting on a holiday, romantic meetings at places between Australia and UK (Bali was the decision spot). It was he who travelled to UK, where after a couple of years they got married and now they too live in Australia. Her hen party was a three-parter too, with an afternoon visit to the cat cafe, complete with moggies, for tea, followed by cocktails. At this point I left the youngsters who set off for an evening of cabaret. I believe there was a plastic tiara and far too many cocktails, but no sashes or willy wands, so not very novelistic either.

A perfect holiday read.

That's my entire experience unless you count the group I encountered early one afternoon, where several girls, already several sheets to the wind, were tottering around in very high heels and very short skirts plus plenty of party paraphernalia. I was in the middle of Emily Benet's latest book, The Hen Party  at the time. That party too is brimming over with bride-to-be sashes, tiaras, willy wands, bottles of bubbly and far more. What's more, it's being filmed for a reality show.

I reviewed it for Greenacre Writers: The Hen Party

Emily's trademark bouncy narrative is a great holiday read and if you thought Mallorca began and ended with Magaluf and all that implies, you might be in for a surprise. But in case you're not having a holiday this year, read it anyway.

Have You Found Your Ideal Readers?

If you are a writer, I'm sure you are familiar with peer review and feedback on your works in progress. Writers mostly find it invaluable even when the truth hurts. But can it sometimes do more harm than good?

The initial Finish That Novel group set up by Greenacre Writers attracted some great writers and we all read and critiqued each other's work with a mix of good and critical comments. I think I'm right in saying that we all found the experience beneficial and our writing improved. I know mine did but I was fortunate in finding, by chance, my Ideal Readers - as Stephen King called them.

I joined a similar group with a different novel and here my experience was mixed. The group was less stable with a number of people joining and leaving after only a few sessions. Some people joined after several members, including me, had already presented the first few chapters. The newcomers complained that they didn't know who various characters were - in spite of us providing detailed synopses of the work so far. After a few meetings, I realized that only three members' feedback was worth considering. Of these one did not hold back in criticism but it was all constructive and extremely helpful, and another was very supportive. The third fed back so much negativity in comments it contributed to my losing confidence in my writing so much so that I left the group and abandoned the novel. This person's comments about my main character were totally at odds with how I perceived her. Was I writing this character so badly that she could be completely misjudged? Evidently so.

I'm not a snowflake so why did I crumble from these comments and criticisms? This all came at a time when I was struggling to regain health after thyroid cancer and my energy was severely depleted. My replacement thyroxine was sub-optimum leaving me on the border of depression and I was also having an extremely difficult time with a colleague at work who undermined me at every opportunity. My confidence in my abilities disappeared down the plughole. Receiving such negative feedback on top of that resulted in me losing faith with my writing altogether, that even the other members' support could not counter-effect.

I'm pleased to say that four years on, I'm in better health and feeling more assured about writing having had some good feedback on my first novel and flash-fiction pieces. The other novel, however, remained hidden in my PC files until a few weeks ago.

I'd been having a huge de-clutter and tidy up, and found the hand written notes from the feedback group. I re-read these notes and have been working on some re-writing. The extensive notes written by that first member have been used in tweaking and deleting, and have been extremely valuable.

Reading the notes from the negative critiquer with fresh eyes, I now see that this person was simply not my Ideal Reader. Far from it. Some comments are valid certainly but many are not. This reader wanted me to write a different character altogether. Actually, it seems, a different novel!

I must be honest - some points were worth considering, and perhaps deep down I knew there was a degree of truth in the harsh criticism which made it harder to hear. I am examining those comments closely to see where I can improve my characterization, but I feel free to discard anything that is not useful to me. This person was not my Ideal Reader and I now have sufficient faith in myself and my writing to throw out anything that is not beneficial in improving it.

I am not advocating surrounding yourself by people who will give unstinting praise - no-one grows in that environment. Listen to your critiquers and consider their feedback - but, please, do find the courage to disregard criticism that doesn't allow you to feel enthusiastic about your work and its development.

Flashes of fiction.

Today I attended a flash fiction workshop hosted by Greenacre Writers and led by Ingrid Jendrzejewski, who has won a number of flash fiction competitions including the prestigious Bath Flash Fiction Award in 2016.

Ingrid's aim was to take us out of our comfort zone. She set exercises to do just that! She also introduced the concept of the iceberg where only a small proportion of the berg is visible with 90% beneath the surface. The limitation of words in flash fiction - be it 6 words or 1,000 - means keeping much of the story hidden. What is visible is only a small part of the story and needs precision so the reader can still understand it. To quote Hemingway, who says it so much better. "...a writer...may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them." (The Art of Fiction, No 21 The Paris Review.)

Ingrid also spoke about the many forms of flash fiction including prose poems. Different publishers seek different forms with some preferring the narrative style - a concise short story, while others publish the prose poem forms - research is key in finding the outlets for your particular style. She also gave us some excellent examples of flash fiction including stories by Tania Hershman to read and consider, as well as plenty of resources for books, workshops, and publishers for our work.

If you have the opportunity to attend one of Ingrid's workshops I can thoroughly recommend it!

I have had a few of my flash pieces published and many more rejected. On my return from the workshop I found a tweet from Reflex Fiction with a link to my piece 'No Mirrors' - its publication today meant it that while it reached the long-list in this competition, it hasn't made it any further. With renewed enthusiasm gained from Ingrid's workshop, maybe my next one will do better!

By discovering several typos as I was writing this, I can now confirm that several genres exist: flesh fiction (courtesy of Rosie Canning) lash fiction, flask fiction and flush fiction. Take your pick.

Confessions of a speech and language therapist.

April 16th is World Voice Day.

Ever since I was a speech therapy student (we added the 'language' bit later) I have worked with people with voice problems and now specialize in that particular area of SLT.

My voice patients vary hugely. The youngest was two and a half and the oldest some ninety years older. They come from a wide range of backgrounds and ethnicity. Some are professional voice users, others not. Anyone can have a voice problem.

I take my work very seriously but there are a few smiles along the way. I had to keep a straight face when one lady told me that the doctor was quite wrong telling her she had noodles in her throat, as that wasn't possible because she never ate noodles, horrible things. She meant nodules. Nothing to do with what you eat but often related to shouting. Which she did quite a lot. She answered her phone in my clinic to speak to her son and I almost lost my hearing.

I still wonder whether I irrevocably ruined one singer's career. He assured me he always drank a special concoction before a performance 'because it coats my vocal cords making it easier to sing.' I forbore to point out that it had obviously lost its efficacy as he was in my clinic - but instead gave him a little anatomy lesson. If his miracle drink ever went near his vocal cords he would be coughing and spluttering and wouldn't sound much good. He seemed quite devastated with my explanation, having been quite sure that his vocal cords were positioned vertically in his larynx along which the liquid would slide neatly down to his stomach. Without his placebo - can he still sing? Gargles don't act on the vocal cords either, by the way.

I asked one lady, who had very mild dysphonia (voice problem), whether her voice prevented her from carrying out any activities. 'Not really,' she replied, then said, 'I am a bit upset about not being able to sing in the supermarket.' She added 'you know, when you just want to burst into song in the supermarket? I often do that. It cheers me up.'

She and I do not shop at the same place, or at least not at the same time, because I have never heard snatches of song whilst shopping. Children yelling sometimes, but singing, no. I wasn't sure whether restoring her voice would go down well with her fellow shoppers or not!

Another patient who worked in a supermarket (was it the same one?) was surprised to see me when I was picking up a few things for dinner, and asked if I had come to check up on how she was using her voice at work. I reassured her I was just doing some shopping (thank goodness I wasn't buying six bottles of gin and multi-packs of chocolate!) But what a job that would be - I'd get to quite a few places. In the last few months I'd have been visiting schools - a lot, theatres, night-clubs, fitness classes (perhaps I should!), shops, hairdressers, taken bus rides and taxi rides, visited the The Old Bailey, and The House of Lords to name but a few.

Teachers sometimes admit to shouting to their pupils to keep the noise down but I wasn't expecting to one patient's explanation for her hoarse voice. 'I have to shout at the lions.' But it's all in a day's work when you're Lion Keeper at a wildlife park! Checking up on her at work would have been a jolly day out for me. Must get that written into the job description.

At one hospital, I saw a patient who was an anaesthetist at the same hospital. She popped in for her appointment wearing her theatre greens. 'Will I be more than an hour? I've got to extubate someone in about 70 minutes. They've got my mobile number if there's a problem in the meantime, so I might have to dash.' She wasn't kidding, but there was of course, another anaesthetist to hand! (In case you are concerned about H&S - she would have changed into new theatre greens on her return. Now they are no longer worn outside theatres at all!)

I thoroughly enjoyed the scene in the waiting area when another of my clients turned up for his appointments in his work clothes. He was a specialist tribute singer. Other patients were a little surprised to find themselves sitting next to a very convincing Elvis.

There's never a dull moment!

If you are interested in finding out more about World Voice Day or want to know what a larynx looks like, take a look at the website.

More information about the voice and its care can be found on The British Voice Association website.

PS: Note to writers: It's vocal cords, not chords.

The first three months...

Spring is on the way.

Almost three months of the year are already past and with it, I hope, the worst of winter. The months have brought me mixed tidings.

I bade my daughter farewell in the first week of January for her journey to Australia where she is relocating having married an Aussie. They are going a long way round with a four month trip through 20+ countries of Central and South America. Thank goodness for email and Skype.

Losing my mother just a week later was a great sadness, although not unexpected. I keep reading or hearing things and thinking 'Oh I must tell Mum, she'll be interested to hear that,' and then remembering! She died knowing her granddaughter was going to live in the land where she was born which gave her a wonderful sense of continuity. In spite of living in England for 85 of her 95 years she still identified with Australia and in the brief notes of her life that she wrote to be read at her funeral, she mentioned how awful the weather was on the day she arrived at Tilbury in June 1931. She said it never improved much.

These two most important women in my life were also the two who provided some of my best conversations, so I'm feeling quite bereft.

On a happier note, the day after my mother's funeral I received a letter telling me I had won The Great British Write Off flash fiction competition and a lovely fat cheque! That put a smile on my face. I just wish the news had come a couple of weeks earlier so I could have told my mother who would have been delighted. The winnings will be put towards another trip because my daughter and son-in-law have now visited more countries than me and that's just not right!

I did add Australia to my country tally last September, so in the spirit of finding out more about books Down Under and Australian authors I reviewed The Book That Made Me edited by Judith Ridge, for the Greenacre Writers blog. Read my review here.

At the end of last year I had been interviewed by author Leslie Tate, who I met at an author event in November as he was interested in my work as a speech and language therapist as well as my literary endeavours. He posted the interview in January which you can read here.

So here's to spring and sunny weather, and productive reading and writing.

My mother's gift to me.

My mother introduced me to literature with stories. Bedtime stories and anytime stories. My early favourites included the Beatrix Potter books and Alison Uttley’s Little Grey Rabbit series. I loved My Naughty Little Sister, by Dorothy Edwards. That's what my older sisters called me, but I knew that the child in the book was naughtier than anything I could come up with, because she did lots of really silly things which I viewed with a four-year-old's contempt. However I was rather impressed when she went on a train journey by herself with only the guard to keep an eye on her. I also liked the Milly Molly Mandy series, by Joyce Lankester Brisley, especially as I had my own Little Friend Susan. I did wish Milly Molly Mandy would choose something other than stripes for her dresses though. She nearly did once. 

Like many children I also listened to 'Listen With Mother' with my mother! Co-incidentally it was first broadcast on this very day in 1950.

Learning to read was effortless and seemingly took no time at all so I read books for myself by age five or six but still liked my mother reading to me. One book that I enjoyed was Treasures of the Snow by Patricia St. John. Set in Switzerland it featured children who skied to school in winter which sounded wonderful, although I imagined the walk back up the mountains must have been a bit of a hike. Our house had plenty of books, including some of my mother’s childhood books and those belonging to my three older sisters. I read them all.

Stories didn’t end with books. I also loved those that my mother made up or the real stories about her childhood in Australia of which I never tired. When I helped my mother with household chores such as washing up, we made up stories with one of us starting and the other taking over. The best story we created went on for weeks about a crazy family who lived in the country and led a rather bohemian life, of which their father’s relations heartily disapproved. The step-mother, who bucked the trend by being nice to her step-children, was called Lorraine but she changed it to Raine as the children were Wood, Heath, Moore, and Brooke and she thought it fitted in better. Father was a little more conventional - I can’t remember if he had a name or not – so we got him out of the way much of the time by sending him abroad to work. 

As I grew older I devoured the children’s classics including two favourites, Little Women and Anne of Green Gables and we would discuss what happened after the stories ended or have conversations about the characters as if they were our neighbours and friends. We especially liked Anne and the inhabitants of Avonlea. These discussions continued as I met the characters in adult classics including Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice.

We often compared our real neighbours to characters. Barbara Pym’s novels teemed with people from our village, which had its share of helpful ladies. We also loved the Mitford autobiographies and novels and happily chatted about Farve aka Uncle Matthew and his frightful rages as well as the sisters’ exploits. How we envied the Hons cupboard as our house had no such cosy delight.

In recent years our book discussions remained one of our favourite subjects in our regular phone-call chats, along with family news. My mother continued to read both fiction and non-fiction – she liked memoirs of interesting people – until the last few weeks of her life. She would often dip into favourite familiars if she felt too tired to tackle something new. It wasn’t so long ago that we visited Tara to have tea with Scarlett and Mammy to see if Rhett had returned. We knew exactly how that story ended – don’t be misled by published sequels.

My mother was also very supportive of my writing, and was pleased about my few modest successes. A couple of years ago she passed me several exercise books of her writings over the years about life on the farm where we lived when my siblings and I were children.  

Of all my memories of her, the literary memories are among my most precious. I'm going to miss our chats about our book friends.

Kathleen Hazel Bamfield, née Stephens. May 1921-January 2017.

Lit Ward 10 Under Threat.

The Reader by Mary Cassatt, 1877

Dr Read’s blood pressure was far too high. Nurse Gorgeous took off the monitor and hustled him into the miniscule staff room of Lit Ward 10, made him sit down in the only comfortable chair and fetched him several books. ‘You’re not going back on that ward until your blood pressure is down,’ she instructed him. For a moment she thought he was going to argue but he meekly turned to the first page of Decline and Fall, a choice he felt was apt.

After an hour’s reading Nurse Gorgeous checked his blood pressure and was reassured that he was improving but she wasn’t letting him back on the ward. However it was time for an important meeting. She bleeped Dr De Licious who was helping out in the overcrowded admissions ward.

‘Our ward is under threat,’ Dr Read told his staff. ‘The Chief Exec will close us down unless we can come up with a massive savings plan. The surgical ward has had to take three of our beds, and with the pressure they’re under I couldn’t refuse. They’ve had to take Nurse Page too as she’s primarily a surgical nurse. The only reason the Chief Exec hasn’t cut off our funding altogether is our outcomes, which have remained excellent with the exception of that unspeakable man…’ he stopped.

His colleagues knew who he was talking about. The Minister for Health was Lit 10’s only failure. Far from being turned in to a nicer person during his stay on the ward a year ago, he’d become far worse since his discharge. All three felt he deserved to end up in The Hague for crimes against humanity. ‘Article 7, section k,’ muttered Dr de Licious.

They formulated a workable plan. They reluctantly decided that Lit Ward 10 must become a day ward with just two beds on a general ward for those who had other medical needs besides Lit Therapy. They had already established a successful dayroom programme for staff requiring Lit Therapy. Many staff taken ill during shifts had found Lit Therapy prevented further days of sick leave. 

Dr Read had also instigated an out-reach programme to most other wards with great success. The only disadvantage being a number of books they supplied went home with these patients on discharge and were never seen again. However it was a small price to pay and had resulted in the hospital having a much smaller drugs bill. This was the reason the Chief Exec had allowed Lit Ward 10 to carry on at all. He didn’t hold with such nonsense as reading. Far better to give people lots of medication with long complicated names but even he had to acknowledge reading was cheaper and savings were the order of the day.

Nurse Gorgeous found a manager’s office on the second floor that was used for only one hour a week. She requisitioned it for the new Lit Ward 10. The Chief Exec had to admit this was better use of a bright airy office which had several comfortable chairs, a very nice set of fitted shelves containing one book, its own kitchenette and a large walk-in cupboard which would do as a staff room, so long as no more than two people were it in at the same time.     
    

The office was currently used by one of the consultants for her weekly team meeting simply because it was always empty but she agreed to officially relocate to the hot-desk suite (a draughty porta-cabin) but secretly held the meetings in her secretary’s house over the road from the hospital. Nobody knew whose office it was until a cleaner recalled it had belonged to the Chief Exec’s Bright Ideas Manager, who had precisely one idea, then gone on holiday and never returned. No one had missed him in over six months. The single book on the shelf was a copy of How to Get Ideas. Its efficacy seemed in doubt.

The new Lit Ward 10 was ready with a minimum of fuss. It had been nicely decorated six months ago owing to the BIM’s one idea and needed only a few more chairs, a couple of occasional tables and a coffee machine. Dr De Licious and Nurse Gorgeous headed for Ikea after work with a shopping list and some money from the League of Friends.

One of the porters volunteered to relocate the books and equipment from the old ward in his own time. He had once been admitted to Lit Ward 10 after collapsing with exhaustion near the end of an 18 hour shift. He had been put to bed, allowed to sleep for hours on end and awoke to a cup of hot chocolate, breakfast and a copy of The Unexpected Inheritance of Inspector Chopra which had revived his flagging spirits. Life had been so much better since, even with the long shifts he still had to endure. Besides, Nurse Gorgeous was a smasher. Lovely girl – that Dr de Licious should get on and propose, he thought as he trundled the books to their new home. A copy of Animal Farm fell from the pile. He stopped to replace it.

The following day the patients took their seats in the comfy chairs and opened their books. An atmosphere of peace and content settled over the new room. Letta, the ward’s housekeeper, mixed up her special brew of Jamaican hot chocolate and took it round to the patients and staff. It wasn’t the same as the old ward, which now housed the increasing number of surgical patients from a nearby hospital which had been downsized, but the staff knew they would continue to do a great job in restoring people’s equilibrium and help them cope with the constant messes made by the government and its unspeakable ministers.

A patient brought in a donations box and everybody slipped a few coins or notes in. By the end of the first week there was enough for a number of new books, supplies of hot chocolate and a fresh bottle of gin. The patients knew that they were benefitting from the best NHS medicine in the world and wanted this to remain for perpetuity. Lit Ward 10 would survive – at least for the time being. 

What books would you recommend Nurse Gorgeous buys with the donations?