One of my poems has just been published in the first issue of an American magazine - Poetry Nook.

The magazine can be purchased on Amazon here. 

I must admit I'd have been more enthusiastic had they managed to spell my name right!

Three Quarters Dead

Wistful stars
in the evening
a little white
with memory and
a handful of dust

Farewell Trip was actually born on a Sunday morning walk on the Long Mynd with Anne and Bobby. A couple of years have passed and on this morning's walk we indulged ourselves in casting the film. It seems a good time to enjoy our dreams. Whilst we can, before a cold world turns its back in indifference. Besides, what writer/dreamer hasn't done this at some time or other?  Karin, of course, will have her own, entirely different, wish-list.

The film will obviously be relocated to America, which means every location would have to change and we focused more on that than on the cast-list. 

So Lampeter could become Madison, Wisconsin
Cornwall – Crater Lake, Oregon
Shropshire – Nevada
Paris – Seattle
New York – London and vice versa
Bar Harbour – Northumberland
Reigate – somewhere posh and dull in New England
and Bristol – Portland, Oregon.


Casting the BBC2/Channel 4 series was much easier. Karen Gillan and Joe Thomas for the earlier versions and, as the older Ruth, Louise Delamere, (she was Lia in No Angels). We were arguing over Julian Rhind-Tutt (looks the part – easy segue from Joe Thomas – but slightly too posh) and Stephen Mangan (would be great for the audio book, and speaks very movingly about Macmillan nurses, but doesn't look right). 

We'd settled on Rhind Tutt. Well apart from Anne's insistence Jack Davenport got the part, which Bobby ignored in favour of a nice piece of sheep poo. On getting home I googled Louise Delamere to see what she'd been doing lately, only to find she's married to Stephen Mangan. Which was something of a clincher...

Unless you know better...

It's been a strange couple of weeks on the publishing front. Karin and I have a blog called “two real writers awaiting validation”, and the blog is an exploration of our journey. Which to date has meant a soupçon of hope, a sprinkle of moaning and a thick juicy slab of “look at us, look at us”.

In truth we're not sure what validation means exactly. To be honest, we are both pretty chuffed when any of our friends is enthusiastic. But I think I remember our original definition was to be published by someone – all proper, like.

Of course, we realise that being published only brings with it more fears - whether it will sell, whether anyone will like it, whether we can cope with all the comments from people who don't, and so on. Deep down we know that validation only comes from within. And, unlike Karin, I was fairly sure we had written a book that deserved a wider public. Then again, I have another couple of those that remain in the darkness. So, external validation of any sort is welcome.

So we're pretty chuffed to be able to boast on our blog that we have a publisher. Details here. 

As someone who hardly ever touches my Kindle I would have liked to have seen a paperback edition. In validation terms, I'd have been thrilled to see our work on the shelves of Waterstone's in between Dickens and Dostoevsky (or Twain and Updike if I'd won the coin-toss). Then again, whatever else the book may be, it isn't literature.

It's a tough old world out there in book land. Agents and publishers are swamped with more manuscripts than ever before at a time when the printed word could hardly be at a lower commercial ebb. It's often said that everyone writes poetry and no-one reads it. The last few months in the twittersphere has left me thinking the same about novels, as people fall over themselves to talk up their self-published treasures. 

Each rejection letter is like a knife-wound. So, we'll grasp what we've got like we've won a cup final, and give thanks yet again to several people and their amazing efforts to get us out there.

Woman's Own have just done a two-page spread on Karin, our book and cancer. 

Karin e-mailed me the other day. “Are we having our first author argument?”

Which is pretty amazing when you think about it. Two fairly headstrong souls, one of whom - and I'll leave you to guess which – has spent their life accused of not being a team player, coming together to do something profoundly creative and, by its very nature, individualistic. And effectively completing it without once ever raising their voices or simmering with passive aggressive resentment. Respect to us. 

We're meeting up Wednesday to thrash out this utterly trivial difference of opinion. (Me: Description, who needs it? Her: Everyone who's read the book). And even in this instance we aren't even having an argument. 

Which does beg the question. Would our novel be better if we were? 

Apparently Gareth Bale will be earning £34 a minute at Real Madrid.

This reminded me of the short story I wrote about my dad. Who left my mum and me (aged 4) with a pile of debts and never gave us a penny. He was a chancer. And by chance ended up in early 80s America in Illinois where they were building the biggest nuclear power plant in the world. I barely knew him as a child but went to spend the summer with him at the end of my first year of university.

I had a great time, genuinely. There's been movies made of it. In fact Neil Simon's near contemporaneous “I Ought to be in Movies” with Walthar Matthau just about covers it. Anyway, he was paid good money. The cooling towers were so huge they could be seen from all over the state. They had warning lights that blinked every few seconds to warn aircraft of their presence. 

One night I was cleaning my teeth and could hear him in his own bathroom. For he knew his worth. For he had been doing his sums. Every time the lights on the cooling tower blinked I heard him saying “Two cents...two cents...two cents..."   

I don't know how many of you will be interested by this next bit of news, but it's very nice to have something purely positive to say for once...

We have been doing some work behind the scenes to get our book "Farewell Trip!"published and, as luck would have it, we've managed to bag some publicity along the way. Woman's Own magazine are publishing a 'true life' story about Karin - how the novel came about as well as some stuff on cancer.

The article will be published on September 24th. Do take a look if you're curious!

We buy the Countryfile calendar every year. Wonderful photos of the British countryside. This year chosen from 57000 amateur photographs. Proceeds to charity. What's not to like?

My only problem is we already live in the countryside. True, I can't capture any of these moments on camera, but I do see many of them in real life on my daily walks. The flash of iridescent blue of a kingfisher fleeing Bobby down by Evelith or a badger cub asleep in the sun near Grindleforge. Crows downing buzzards, red in tooth and claw. Foxes fornicating.

When I return home for my lunch and a snooze I don't actually need a calendar of animals doing things that make us go aah. What I could do with is a hit of what I miss. A Cityfile Calendar: An impromptu game of 30-a-side on Tooting Common; The Bristol Sweet Mart of a Sunday morning; Craven Cottage on a half-empty Tuesday night, Waterloo Sunset. It's all in my head. Just looking for backers....