Crisis Management

So, in the interests of promoting healthy living (always a priority of mine, see the 'Snacks' section for proof) I thought I'd better follow up my last post with some slightly more wholesome coping strategies for times of crisis. Even I have to admit that there's only so much cake, chocolate and Bakewell tart you can use to get you through tough times before it leads to a whole new set of problems, like not being able to go out in public as none of your clothes fit anymore. So, I've been busily trialling some calorie-free alternatives. That don't involve wine either.

I know the lovely (and now envy-makingly svelte) Michelle Styles would say that exercise is the way to go to boost endorphins and clear your mind. She's right, of course, but I've shamefully let my morning run slide this year as I really did find the half-hour recovery period spent gossiping with my running partner afterwards it cut into my working day too much. I guess we could re-schedule it for the evening, but by then my energy-levels have hit the floor and the only running I want to do is a hot bath.

Which brings me neatly onto my rigorously road-tested, calorie-free stress-relief method of choice: reading in the bath.

I do love my kindle, but its one huge downfalls is that it can't really be used in water (as my husband, chief screen-police officer in our house, regularly reminds me) which means I'm still buying paperbacks like a woman with a problem. Reading in the bath has been the thing that got me through the Deadline Weeks (and is my best hope for surviving the subsequent Revisiongate) and going straight to the top of my Book of the Year list is Julie Cohen's Getting Away With It.

Although perfect for bathtime escapism, it's the kind of book you have to keep near you at all times so you can top up your fix at regular intervals during the day, when reality gets a bit much. The thing is, it's so perfectly written that it actually feels like it could be reality, and given that I am about as far removed from the kick-boxing, smart-talking, independent twin heroine as it's probably possible to be, that is quite a feat of clever writing. I identified with Liza all the way. I understood her dilemma perfectly. And I bloody loved her man.

I ordered a copy of the book from Amazon on the day it came out, but before it arrived I spotted it in the book aisle of our brand-new, Wembley Stadium-sized Sainsburys. I'm such an instant-gratification girl I couldn't quite stop myself from slipping it into my basket, which means that I now find myself with a spare copy in need of a good home. So, if you feel a bit like you're swimming against the tide at the moment for whatever reason, and could do with escaping into a fabulous story, drop me a line via the website and leave your address. I'll pick a name out over the weekend.

It's funny too, did I mention that? You know when books are described in the back blurb as being 'laugh-out-loud funny' and you don't laugh once and feel a bit cheated? Well, this one isn't doesn't say that on the back, but I still did A LOT of inelegant snorting. I suppose that would make it a dangerous book to read on the bus, but still more perfect for solitary bathtime devouring. I'd better slip something fragrant and bath-y in with it, so you don't forget.

What's everyone else been reading and loving lately? In the bath or elsewhere...

Conspiracy

With exactly one week to go until Deadline Day, I'd really like to be totally immersed in the book and only emerging into real life occasionally, reluctantly and for as short a time as possible. However, since last Tuesday when Daughter #3 started throwing up, right through the weekend when Mr G absented himself from domestic duty and went to Edinburgh for a weekend of rugby, beer and debauchery with my brothers, to the middle of last night when Daughters 2 and 3 started with the Virulent Vomiting Virus, events have been conspiring against me somewhat.

My head is still there. Just need to find time for my fingers to keep up.

Where was I?

Book is in. House is a mess. Outside it appears to be Autumn-on-the-cusp-of-Winter. Have no idea how or when this happened, but it's all most upsetting. In the manner of a confused elderly person I shall turn up the heating and retreat back to the world of fiction, where there are no dinner money reminders or toothpaste-encrusted basins to clean.

(Am often struck by the irony of longing and longing for a book to be finished, counting down days/nights/words to The End. And then feeling totally desolate. Ho hum. Some people are never happy.)

Now, where was I?

The honest answer to that is 'asleep on the sofa' for most of the day, although in the light of my recent working routine and the news that lack of sleep can kill you I think that definitely comes under the heading of Sensible Precautions rather than Outrageous Laziness. Am in a sort of post-book haze, which is a very nice place to be anyway, but which is further enhanced by slight champagne hangover from celebrating and a sort of cloud of soft-focus happiness brought on by a lovely weekend at my cousin's wedding.

Little did I suspect last October when my lovely cousin announced that she was marrying her gorgeous boyfriend on a beach on the West coast of Scotland (not just any beach, but more of that later...) in May that I'd still be writing The Book That Would Not Die. If I had I would have given some thought to my outfit well in advance instead of leaving it until the day before we left, when I'd been up for four nights in a row until 3am. This is not a good start to any shopping trip, much less one which involves searching for an outfit that combines wedding chic (silk, high heels) with Scottish beachwear practicality (goretex, polar fleece, wellies) In the end - having caught sight of my haggard reflection in the fitting room mirror in Jigsaw - I rushed to Boots to spend silly money on Chanel foundation before heading home to peer despondently into the depths of my wardrobe for something to go with my wellies and goretex.

Because of an unfortunate combination of school exams, Very Important Meetings at work and the grimness of an eight hour drive with children we'd decided a while ago that it was best to leave them and spouses at home, and for the brothers and I to do the trip Old Skool, squabbling on the back seat of my stepmother's car all the way up to Arisaig. This is where, every summer of my childhood, we met up with my cousins to go feral, sleep in a mildewed 1930s showman's caravan and wear the same clothes every day for two weeks. (Clothes which subsequently appeared on the next child down in the photographs the following year.) The beach my cousin walked along to marry her man was the one on which we used to dune surf, find exquisite shells brought in on the gulf stream and build sand boats, and even though it's been nearly 30 years since I was last there it's as beautiful as ever. And as empty. Apart from the farmer who used to drive his cows across the beach, I can't remember ever coming across another living soul for the entire time we were there, which is odd because I've since read that Ewan McGregor used to spend his summers there too. Humph. I never saw him. (Probably just as well, given the wearing-the-same-clothes-for-two-weeks thing.)

Anyway, after the past few frantic weeks it was pretty much the perfect place to be (total perfection would have been achieved with the addition of a couple of degrees on the temperature, and maybe Ewan McGregor striding over the dunes...) My cousin made a ravishing bride, wrapped in plaid with sprigs of gorse in her hair, and there was something timeless and deeply moving about the ceremony on the shore - Walter Scott meets Richard Curtis. Luckily there was a brisk wind, which meant that I could pretend that the tears streaming down my cheeks (the Chanel spray-paint durable foundation was a wise investment after all) were a result of extreme weather rather than extreme soppiness. Expect a wedding on a beach to appear in a book sometime soon.

I'd taken a print out of the book with me to read through while I was away, but needless to say it stayed in its envelope. However, I did do some significant Thinking about it, and finished it properly when I got back, amid much weeping and loud music. I've been writing this one for so long that the playlist has grown and grown, but the song I was playing most at the end was this one. Sniff.

I'm now looking forward to getting to know my children well enough to pick them out in a crowd again, and making inroads into the ironing pile while thinking about the next book. It's been in my head for most of the time I've been working on this one, and it's quite a departure from anything I've done before. Can't wait to get started. I'm sure it'll flow from my fingers and be finished in a month

(What??)

OK, would you now please...

... kiss the person nearest to you, in celebration of the fact that the book is finished.

Thank you.

Sorry for being so elusive these past couple of weeks. Back tomorrow - with photos - to tell you what else I've been up to, around the all-night, chocolate and caffeine fuelled sessions at the keyboard, and to catch up on everything else. (Including the lovely news that I'm a Beautiful Blogger! Thanks so much, Francine, but do you want to take it back now in view of my pitiful no-show recently?!)

Lately...

Some Things I Have Not Been Doing

1. Updating my blog
2. Enjoying the heatwave
3. Enjoying Wimbledon
4. Enjoying much else
5. Hoovering
6. Keeping up with emails (sorry sorry sorry)

Some things I have been doing. A lot

1. Writing
2. Spooning Calpol into Daughter #3 who has been off school for a week and a half
3. Saying 'but I have a DEADLINE!' in a shouty, teeth-clenched voice
4. Deleting (see 1. above)
5. Eating dark chocolate kitkats
6. Feeling jealous of Abby Green who is flying off to Venice today

So, what's everyone else been up to?

The End!

Finally got there. And now I feel like this.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for your lovely encouragement and positive thinking. Sadly, the ancient computer in my office-in-the-attic took the role of Leo in this epic drama, and died right at the end. Thank heavens for the invention of the memory stick.

Another update, via the medium of Kate'n'Leo....

The end is in sight.

Whether I make it or not still remains to be seen.

Quick update

It's all going well. I don't have as much time as I'd like (she says, slightly hysterically) but I'm actually loving writing this book, and a lot of the time this week when I've been sitting typing away at my desk it's felt a bit like this...





(Probably best not to think about what came shortly after...)

For Everything There is a Season...

...And a time for every purpose under heaven. A time to knock back champagne with fellow authors, and a time to drink tea at the keyboard. A time to spend all day on the phone chatting to journalists about sexy rugby players, and a time to take the phone off the hook and think about sexy Italian film directors. A time put on high heels and trip off to London for awards lunches, and a time to drag your ass up to your desk and force it to stay there until you’ve written three thousand words a day.

That time has come.

*Sigh*. I may not be here much for the next little while.

Gone!

But I suspect it'll be a while before I can forget Tristan de Losada Montavalo...

In the meantime I have to hit the ground running with all the things that need washing/ironing/cleaning/arranging before we go away for the weekend tomorrow. And as it's my husband's birthday on Monday there's a fair amount of buying and wrapping involved too. Often feel that my life is horribly reminiscent of some banal Reality TV show where the tasks are increasingly unachievable (but also very dull).

The only thing that's cheering me up is that it's His 40th birthday! Haha! Since I haven't exactly excelled myself on the planning, any ideas for presents or ways to mark the milestone would be greatly appreciated...

It's a good job...

that the clocks go back this weekend.

That gives me a whole extra hour before I have to submit this book.

Vanished!

And it's all the fault of this man...
He's the hero of the book I'm currently racing to finish, an Argentine polo player called Alejandro. (Well, I guess he'd call himself Nacho Figueras. Whatever. I hope that in real life he's more accommodating than his fictional twin) He's actually been quite a joy to work with, but I wish that he'd just accept now that he's beaten and give in gracefully, since the book is currently about ten thousand words too long. He's that kind of guy.

Anyway, while I disappear again to wave my editorial scissors over his head (and other parts of his gorgeous anatomy) you can enjoy him here in the super-smooth Ralph Lauren ad. If anyone has any thoughts on what he intends to do with that trumpet, do share...

Today's Tea Towel Philosophy...

I don't actually mean to become the Queen of tea towel wisdom, but I really do think that this one should find a place on my Christmas list too. I could definitely have done with one to blow my nose and mop up my tears the other night as I realised The Deadline was not going to be met...

Happily, much advice and handholding from certain wonderful writing friends and a quick phonecall with my excessively lovely editor have resulted in deadline reprieve, and the first proper night's sleep I've had in weeks. Hurrah! I can now catch up on some of the stuff I've been neglecting so badly of late, like updating my website, going through my proofs for Orlando (which I don't think I've mentioned is going to be called Mistress: Hired for the Billionaire's Pleasure and will be out in August next year), paying crushing dinner money debts and cleaning the bath.

I can also take a little time to fall in love with the book again.