#MondayBlogs – Page 2

Farm and Family Life, Inspiration, Writing Romance

The washing line

June 8, 2015January 29, 2016by Sam Russell2 Comments

In our first flat the washing line was actually an airer in the corner of the bathroom. It sported tidy newly-married clothes. Secretarial blouses, skirts and tights. Polo shirts and weekend jeans (his mother still laundering the boiler suit). Undies that showed we minded – elastic firmly in place and lace on display. Socks paired uniformly. Linen from the only bed hung on the banister. Shirts draped over radiators. Hand-wash delicates caringly spread on a nifty bath-top drier.

Fast forward a couple of years. The knickers have grown bigger to accommodate developing bump. The bras are impressive – in size if not in drama. Lace ratio has diminished and pant elastic thinned to drooping point. The cheap and cheerful bed clothes have lost vibrancy. Voluminous maternity dresses hog the airer, jostling for space against faded denims and work-a-day clothes. Comfortably lived in.

A semi-detached house – with garden! A family on the cusp of blooming mayhem. Tiny wee socks, smaller than pegs. Doll-sized button-down vests. Blue. White. Pastels. Cradled broderie anglaise. Soft baby cardigans gifted with love and kissed by the breeze as they flutter above the over-long grass of an un-tended garden. Embraced on either side by parental wear that will not require ironing and forgives baby posset. No hand-wash delicates here. Boxer shorts usurping the arse-out Y-fronts. Knickers – practical. Bras unhinge at the front.

And then comes the deluge. Pastels in pink next to bright-comic-strip, little man Ts. Cot sheets and bed sheets and changing mats. Romper suits, romper suits, romper suits. Toddler denims, dungarees, precious blankies. Cot sheets and bed sheets and changing mats. Bibs. Teddy-bears. Messy-play aprons. Sweatshirts emblazoned with diggers, princess duvet covers. The day-glow yellow washing line sags under the strain. Tumble drier is mentioned. Cot sheets and bed sheets and changing mats. Small socks lodged in filters. Potty training pants and jeans, pants and trousers, pants and joggers…

Move to the farm. Muddy coats, dog beds, wet woollen socks. Boiler suits! Bed sheets and bed sheets and pillowcases. School uniform – too soon! Little white collared shirts. Grey trousers, grey jumpers, grey, grey, grey. Airtex tops. Yards of Rayon. Tumble drier. PE kit. Dog towels and bath towels and washable door-mats. Nylon blazers, track suits, hockey skirts, football socks. Jodhpurs, leotards, shorts. Sweaty underarms. Horse hairs. Whipped and snapped by the wind gusting over the fields. Dusted with chaff. Dried and rained on and dried over again.

A single favoured shirt rotates alone in the tumble drier. Essential wear. Specific pants. Modified tartan school-skirts. Rock band Ts, designer labels, rude words. Black denim. Black, black and black. Hoodies, team kit, man-sized shirts. Strap tops, mini-skirts. Pastel trainer bras. Tailored white blouses, elbow-out blazers. Single socks of unknown ownership. Bed sheets, mascara stained pillowcases. Duvets and towels. Sleeping bags, hockey kit, rugby tops, riding clothes. Dog beds, numnahs, horse rugs. Buggered washing machine. Miniscule strings of lacy thongs. Wafts of over-used aftershave. Smudges of make-up.

Magical washing which hung itself, oddly pegged and abandoned to wilt. Eye-brow raising underwear. Skimpy dresses. Term-sized laundry bags coming home to roost. Unfamiliar clothes. University sweatshirts. Famine or feast for the washing machine. Rarely time for the washing-line. Four sets of bed sheets, three sets of bed sheets, two…

Summer-holiday clothes, bright and blousy. Khaki shorts, linen dresses, golfing trousers. Two sets of boiler suits. Yoga pants, walking coats. Dog beds and jodhpurs. Celebratory wine-splattered tablecloths. Garden cushions. Trainer socks. Winter holiday sun-dresses. Swimming suits, evening wear. M&S reliable pants. Lace on display.

Marketing and Promotion, Self-publishing

Woah! What a week.

April 26, 2015January 29, 2016by Sam Russell1 Comment

An interesting week in my self-publishing journey. Much to excite. I am still writing my book talk for next month’s ‘book chat/signing/author interview’ (I must come up with a snappier name before we announce the event). The speech isn’t getting longer, but much like my manuscript it is undergoing a million edits.

A certain very good friend has agreed to read some passages from the book out loud. She reads beautifully and I fear I may squeak on the day (It is not meant to be a comedy act). Being the character that she is, when I told her that I would email the relevant passages, typed out and edited for profanities, she suggested she carry a little bell and ‘ding out’ the swear words. Comedy Store, here we come. I vetoed the idea on the grounds of nervous hysteria looming.

The first passage for reading was easy to select. Near the beginning of the story, so no spoilers here. Not involving too many characters to confuse those who have not read the book. No sex! I replaced the edgy swearing with milder words, but then another friend who is coming to support told me she would be bringing her grand-daughter along (3 years old). We may be re-visiting that bell.

The format of the event is broadly as follows:

Gin and tonic (that’s just for me, the rest get tea or coffee)
Hello (mustn’t forget that)
Speak about my journey to self-publishing
Reading (and bell-ringing?) by very good friend
Speak about the book
Second reading*
Host (and hopefully audience) Q&A session
Book signing and goodbye
Probably more gin.

*You will note that the second reading has an asterisk in place, because I am really struggling to find a second passage that meets the criteria of “no spoilers, no blue bits, not too many characters.” This book is fast, in more ways than one (and yes, that is a plug).

I put a post on Facebook asking readers for their favourite passages. Great response, but few that met the rules. My friend wants to read a steamy scene but personally I think she is becoming obsessed with that bell. Replace “second reading” with “musical interlude”.

Other exciting events this week – I GOT THE BOOK ACCEPTED IN A LOCAL BOOKSTORE! I couldn’t be more thrilled, although I did have to beg and turn up the charm simultaneously. Not an easy thing to achieve. Two copies, but it’s a start. I am hoping that if I get the publicity for the book chat right, those two books will launch themselves off the shelves.

Wonderful ED, my home grown PR, is writing a local press release and the MAGAZINE IS OUT! Weirdly this has happened 6 days ahead of the date I am allowed to shout about it. I’m tempted to break rank here, but I am so humbly grateful for the great publicity I will rein myself in and abide by the rules. Besides, they were really nice people and a promise is a promise. Once again news of my ‘launch’ has reached me via social medial. Must be subscribers only, because I can’t find a copy anywhere (trust me, I have looked). A photograph of the article (depicting a very well turned out woman who resembles me a little) arrived via Facebook.

The final starburst to award this week, goes to the news that I have SOLD A BOOK IN AMERICA! My first transatlantic sale. In fact, I sold three. On the same day. Go figure. I have no idea why the US of A suddenly glimpsed across me. Or three of them did. The mysterious workings of the World Wide Wonderful web. I can’t figure it out, but I’m happy in my ignorance. Much as the tracking of this blog bemuses and fascinates me. Occasional readers from 18 Nations. A special “Hello!” to the Netherlands, Canada, Poland, and all of you World Wonderful readers. It’s great to be in touch.

PS America, check out #AmazonGiveaway “A Bed of Barley Straw” for the chance to win a copy of my book.

So yes, an interesting week.

Farm and Family Life, Inspiration

Internet downtime and getting in touch with spring

March 30, 2015January 29, 2016by Sam RussellLeave a Comment

There is a reason the British spend so much time obsessing about the weather. We have so much of it, after all, in rapid cycles. It rarely appears in the anticipated order.

The clocks changed on Sunday, to British Summer Time. April is around the corner. But the farm remains doggedly cloaked in winter shades of brown and fawn and dull grey-green. These islands and their inhabitants are growing impatient. We are holding our breath in nervous conviction that we will get a spring, and that it will be followed by a heady summer. Neither is guaranteed in the fickle British Isles, but our bodies yearn for warm and our eyes crave the dazzle of sunlit colours.

The Farmer and I took a trip to the Norfolk Coast this weekend past. Despite the threat of cold, high wind and rain. All was serene when we arrived at dusk, in time to catch a glimpse of the grey North Sea in tranquil mood, softly slapping the sand with that beautiful whooshing sound that I for one could listen to forever. The waves played their music as our view slowly faded. On Sunday morning we strode out and eagerly watched some crab boats being hauled on to land. The first drops of splintery rain caught us returning from our walk. From the windows of our cosy cottage we saw the spit become a soft downpour. The Church bells jangled joyously. The brave and the hardy passed our window with hoods knotted around their heads and bright umbrellas held aloft. The young and the old alike were noisily invigorated by the adventure of forging on through our changeable March weather. We watched a sturdy toddler in a pink anorak pause in fascination to observe the crystal water gushing from a cast iron drain pipe. She was right to pause. The spouting rainwater chortled out and splattered onto the kerb before streaming to join the small river on the road and rushing downhill to the land drains which pour back to the sea.

On our journey home, we ploughed through endless torrential rain that the windscreen wipers could not cope with. The wind slammed the sides of the car ferociously. We eyed high sided vehicles nervously. March is said to “come in like a lion and go out like a lamb” but it seems the reverse is true this year. A fallen tree blocked the opposite carriageway, and a couple of miles from home we passed a ‘For Sale’ sign at the exact moment when the wind lifted it out of the ground and sent it spiralling into a field.

Power was off at the farm, not an infrequent occurrence when the wind gets up. Our dustbins had gone to visit the neighbours (this is quite a lengthy journey where we live). But roughly an hour later I was out walking the dogs in weak but welcome sunshine.

I am reading “The Summer Book” by Tove Jansson at the moment. A beautiful, simple, evocative tale which is reminding me to notice the details. Just like that sturdy toddler in her pink anorak. We had no internet connection in Norfolk, and limited mobile signal. I lost track of what my book was doing. I didn’t tweet I couldn’t check in with Facebook. I failed to post my weekly blog. I have to admit I could get used to being out of touch. I can see the small, tightly clenched buds on the trees from my window. I heard the strident bark of a restless dog fox last night. I could smell that dog fox this morning. As I type rain is cracking on the corrugated roof of the lean-to, but I can feel the promise of spring in my bones. My waters tell me it is going to be an absolute beauty.

Self-publishing

Dodging bullets and double identites

February 23, 2015January 29, 2016by Sam Russell1 Comment

I appear to be on the back foot. Again. Mad, hectic week moving The Mother in to her new house. The fantastic, gallivanting granny is off to Oz in a week and if she can cope with what she’s been through in the last year and a half, then move home, take off across the world, and still come up smiling…well! I would like to hold her up as an example of dogged determination in the face of adversity. At the age of 79. They can teach us all a thing or two these olduns.

The paragraph above is in part a forward apology for my ramblings on about the minor, insignificant obstacles that continue to trip me up on my self-publishing path. I am going to ramble anyway, of course. That is the purpose of this blog.

This week’s surprises fell in to three camps:

Publishing
Marketing
Farm Life

The publishing bullet came in the form of Amazon dropping a ‘minimum pricing’ requirement on my book. How on earth did I not know about that? Of course it makes sense, a monkey could work it out. If I want the book to be in print, with a nice shiny cover, they have got to print it. And it can’t be sold for less than the cost of that. Strangely though, I have managed to get through the entire self-publishing process without stumbling over this relevant fact. I even had a conversation with my CreateSpace editing team about pricing and where to place the book. They helpfully gave me a suggested range and ‘similar book comparison’ exercise to follow, but failed to tell me that Amazon would play a major part in the decision. Bullet narrowly dodged by the minimum price being only pennies higher than the figure I had in my mind. Lucky that.

Marketing has been a rollercoaster. Twitter is going swimmingly, followers up and some great moments of banter. I’m loving the blogging community, and following so many people now that it is a miracle I get anything else achieved. I am hopeful that I have a book review lined up with one of my fellow bloggers (I will mention names when confirmed, but wouldn’t want to presume) and an author interview on another site (likewise).

The golden bullet came when ED (eldest daughter) informed me of the possibility of an interview and photo shoot with a major magazine. Way, way, way out of my comfort zone. At the same time just too big an opportunity to turn down, if it comes off at all. Part of me hopes it doesn’t… When said magazine called me for a chat (pre-booked and fully warned) I couldn’t remember the name of a single author or book in response to the standard questions “Which authors have influenced you?” and “What are your favourite books?” Where is that monkey, and can I use him as my stand in? ED was unimpressed.

Which leads me on to Facebook, author profile pictures and double identities. Specifically the pen name. Author Me now has a Facebook account and page, but all my regular, actual, real life friends are callously rejecting my invites because they don’t know who the hell I am. The Brother generously offered up his photography skills to do me some author profile pics. He has taken some great shots. Of Real Me. Do I share these on my Author Me sites? And if so what was the point of a pen name in the first place? The magazine, if it comes off, will be featuring Real Me. Not Author Me. Sorry, confusing I know. Welcome to my world. I should have bitten the bullet, and put my name on the cover. (Far too many bullet analogies in this post. Apology number three.)

The comic twist to my author profile pics, is that my physical proof book didn’t arrive in time for the shots. The Brother lives three hours away and was actually here to help The Mother move. In desperation I ‘mocked up’ a copy of the book (my cover image, stuck over the top of ‘The Guardian Guide to Careers’ with sellotape). The book is decidedly bigger than I had envisaged, despite the fact that I have known the measurements for at least five months. I dare not release any of the pictures until the actual book arrives for fear of being prosecuted under the trade descriptions act if I have messed up again.

To top off the week, the opportunity of changes on the farm have found us locked in often fruitless, circular debate around the kitchen table. For more hours than I care to count. Life’s rich tapestry is asking for bold colours. I’ve armed myself with a thimble and I will keep stitching. I have the example of a gallivanting granny to follow.