IMAGINARY WORLDS - 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers

IMAGINARY WORLDS

Terry was so intent on writing that he didn’t notice the supervisor until the man tapped him on the shoulder. “What’s a giant turtle got to do with electricity, young man?”

“It’s all in the flipper movement, sir.” Terry regretted his flippancy the moment he’d spoken – he needed the job – but writing blurbs for the Central Electricity Generating Board was stultifying when a million ideas buzzed in his head like a shorting power cable.

“The office isn’t the place for your imaginary worlds, Pratchett.”

Perhaps, Terry thought, it was time he tried earning a living doing what he really enjoyed.

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Terry Pratchett was 23 when he wrote his first novel but worked in several jobs, including that of Press Officer to CEGB, before deciding to write full time. Sadly, he died in 2015 from early onset Alzheimers, but he left a wealth of inspired writing behind.

He is best known for his stories set in Discworld, which leads me nicely into mentioning my own imaginary world - a prehistoric version of Earth - the setting for my Living Rock series. Some of you will have read A VOLCANIC RACE, the first in the series, and now you can buy the next one, WOLF PACK, which is out on Amazon in print and ebook TODAY!!! Just in time for Christmas!!! This link should take you there:    https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1790375088
    if not, just type the title and my name into Amazon Books.

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This is my first attempt at writing about a real person, but the prompt photo looked so like a handmade world that the story just appeared. Thanks to Rochelle https://rochellewisoff.com/ for hosting Friday Fictioneers and to Douglas M MacIlroy for the photo prompt.

THE FANS - one hundred words for Friday Fictioneers

THE  FANS

Maggie and Nell were Valerie’s staunchest fans, reading each book the moment it came out and discussing every bodice-ripping page over glasses of Prosecco.

When Valerie died they wore black arm-bands and planned a pilgrimage.

After months of research they found the place, but the caretaker was reluctant to admit them.

“We only want a quick peek,” Nell pleaded, but Maggie’s fiver was more persuasive. He pocketed it swiftly. “Don’t touch anything.”

They walked down the brick path, found Valerie’s retreat beneath rampant roses, and stepped inside reverently.

After a long silence, Maggie said, “Well, she always did love nature.”

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This week's photo prompt comes courtesy of Sarah Potter via Rochelle's blog  https://rochellewisoff.com/  If you follow the Blue Frog link from there you will find many other interpretations of the same photograph.
But first, please do leave a comment on mine, if only to prove I am not talking to myself!

THE SMITH GIRLS - another re-write!

It's been a while since I blogged about writing, mainly because I've been too busy actually doing it.
A month ago I finished a rewrite of my novel Helter-Skelter and re-submitted it to an agent. Waiting to hear whether I've cracked it this time is torture, and I have been too nervous to do more than faff.
Well, that's not quite true - I wrote a 200 word story for an online competition run by Writing Magazine's Talkback forum and was a runner-up, and I also wrote a humerous poem for the same competition.
I had a short story accepted by an online site http://alfiedog.com/ - my story should be published in September - and I've expanded the 200 word story into a longer one, so I've not been completely idle.
I still haven't heard about H-S (I'm hoping no news is good news) but now I am settling down to the next big challenge - a total rewrite of the sequel to Helter-Skelter.

Just reading my chapter summaries from when I wrote it two years ago has highlighted a problem - I need to shift the emphasis. In the original I was still focusing on Albie Smith, the MC in H-S, but the sequel begins twelve years later and Albie is now a family man. I had spread the story too thinly over Albie, his wife and their children, which resulted in the book lacking a central thread.

I gave up attempting a rewrite after the first chapter and had a rethink, lying awake for several nights. Then Mandy and I had a brain-storming session over a coffee which produced several ideas but nothing concrete, especially as every time I suggested dropping a character she cried, "Oh you can't do that - I like him/her!"
But now I have finally worked it out and I'm all excited about it again. Without losing sight of Albie and the rest of his family, the main focus is going to be on his two daughters.
They are in their very early teens, one dark, one fair, sometimes the best of friends, at others sworn enemies.
Hence the working title of my current project:

  The Smith Girls

A-Z CHALLENGE 2013

I’ve given in – I’m going to do it, starting tomorrow.

For those who don’t know, this is a challenge that hundreds of bloggers put themselves through each year – to blog every day bar Sundays throughout April using the letters of the alphabet as a guide. When I added my name to the list I was number 1559, so people who start at the top won't reach me!

My posts will be short, though not necessarily sweet, and my theme will be my current obsession -  the re-write of my novel Helter-Skelter – so you will have to bear with me.

And I love comments if they come with your name!

ON YOUR FEET! The benefits of exercise.

What is it about walking that sets the creative juices flowing? I always think more clearly on the move and this morning was no exception.
I started off on my usual route, munching an apple and brooding over a rejection, but when I threw away the core for the lizards to find I gave myself a severe scold and forced the grey cells onto my latest project - re-writing my novel Helter-Skelter.
I had been reading one chapter yesterday afternoon and as I began thinking about that this morning it suddenly dawned on me that it contained a serious error in chronology. After numerous readings this is the first time it has occurred to me, which just goes to show that you can skim over your own mistakes far too easily - but even my daughter, who reads everything I write, hadn't noticed.
So I stopped at a cafe, ordered a coffee, and scribbled some notes before I could forget my flash of insight. I go for a walk most mornings - perhaps I should do so more often, and for longer.

MIDNIGHT GENIUS

Midnight. 
I've been asleep for an hour, cosily snuggled under sheet and blanket, and then BAM! I'm awake.
I have learned there is no point in tossing and turning or punching the pillow. My brain has slipped into over-drive and I must ride out the storm.
First thing is to make a cup of tea. This may sound strange - caffeine and all that - but it works for me. Then I tackle a cryptic crossword - preferably the Telegraph Toughie - until my eyelids droop.

But sometimes it is the creative urge that won't let me sleep.
Last night I lay in the dark for half an hour with a story going round in my head. It was a fantastic story, a sure-fire prize-winner, so good that I was afraid to wake up properly and break the thread.
Eventually I reached for the light switch and my glasses, grabbed my notebook and pen and wrote with frantic speed to grab my dream story before it faded.

 This morning I read what I had written - here it comes - dah-daahh!

Write a 300 word story in 350 words, then cut off the last 50 so that MC's confession at the end is chopped off. This will add tension.

Yeah - right - glad I woke up to write that.

SPOOKY SHOWER STORY

We think our shower may be haunted - or at the very least there was some sort of strange psychic energy in there this morning.
As we were drinking a coffee in Las Galletas today I said to the Other Half, "I had this weird sensation in the shower this morning." (All those people with dirty minds go to the back of the class.)
"What was that?" he asked, which proved he had actually heard me - a miracle in itself.
"A moment of deja vu ," I told him, "But the main thing is that it gave me an idea for a story." I described my idea - an off-the-wall one as most of my story ideas are - and it will get written when it's stewed for a while. In the meantime the OH had his own experience to add.
"There must be something peculiar in the shower today," he said, "Because I was about to get out when I realized I hadn't washed my hair."
Now that IS spooky. The OH takes great pride in the fact that he still has hair at 77, and he uses an inordinate amount of 2 in 1 shampoo. For him to forget to wash the locks is strange indeed.

DON'T FORGET ME WHILE I'M GONE!

I am taking a month off, starting tomorrow with a four-hour flight to Gatwick, where my younger daughter will meet me. Then I shall have four days at my elder son's house sharing a room with my grandsons, who are now much bigger than they were at this family wedding.
L-R: No2 daughter & husband. No1 daughter & husband. No2 son & new wife. No1 son, wife & boys.

I will visit my mother and some friends, have my eyes tested, and see what the Post Office has to offer in the way of OAP Travel Insurance.
I must also buy some M&S socks and knickers and blackcurrant sweets to take to my younger son and his wife in Canada.
Two weeks in Canada! My first ever visit, and the longest trip I have made alone for 22 years. The itinerary my daughter-in-law has planned sounds fabulous, and includes a trip to Lake Elliot for Canadian Thanksgiving, but the main thing is to see where my boy has settled with his Canadian wife.
Then ten whole days back in the UK to relax, pick up my new glasses and do a bit of shopping before a flight home to Tenerife.

No1 daughter will keep an eye on the OH while I'm gone, so all I have to do is enjoy myself. And perhaps make a few notes, and write a story or two, and maybe blog once or twice just to keep my hand in, so don't go too far away!

MORNINGS AND ANORAKS

Usually my morning walk is a time to put my thoughts in order for the day’s writing. I drag my wandering mind away from last night’s gossip, or what I dreamed about, or the shopping list, and deliberately tell myself, “Right – let’s  sort out this bit of dialogue,” or, “How would a twelve-year-old boy react in that situation?” The mere act of putting one foot in front of the other seems to untangle knots.

The views help too – the blossom is now falling from the flame trees, carpeting the pavement in orange and smelling of sweetish rot. 

The eight-forty bus waits outside the ruined bull-ring.


The old house still stands stubbornly by the huge hump in the road that its owner’s refusal to move forced on the road-builders.

But for the past few days it has been impossible to think about anything other than the forest fire.

On Monday morning there was a towering cumulus of smoke obscuring Mount Teide. On Tuesday one couldn’t breathe without inhaling specks of burning forest, and we learned that the beautiful Barranco del Infierno had succumbed. 

By Wednesday we knew the inhabitants of Villaflor had been evacuated, the volunteer firemen were battling the blaze on several fronts, and hydroplanes flew over our home at regular intervals, collecting water from the sea to drop on the flames. 

The fire is reported to be under control now, but this morning the planes were still flying – I saw both of them and took photos. You can just see it if you look really hard. It was too hot to be wearing an anorak!

NIGHT WRITER

My first day alone, and did I get any writing done? Huh! Did I heck! I thought about it, but I failed.
As I was walking round the shops I deliberately set my mind on my novel. Told myself not to be side-tracked but to think constructively. I have been accused of solving my characters' dilemmas too quickly, so now one of the problems my protagonist faces is going to last longer. While I waited for my turn at the hole in the wall, I ignored the sun burning my back and thought of another thread to weave through my story. On my drive home I nearly forgot to get petrol, so engrossed was I in saying a conversation out loud to see if it sounded right.
And when I got home, what did I do? I made a mosquito net for the spare room - can't have my daughter being bitten next week, can I? Then I watered the OH's lime tree and chilli plants, as per instructions. Something has eaten my strawberry plant - not just the leaves, the whole damn plant - but I couldn't discover what. The washing had to be brought in, the cat fed, the bathroom walls washed, a chicken picked off the bones and made into a curry, and then it was time for a drink.
Hang on a minute - I almost forgot. This is what I wrote in the small hours of this morning, in the dark without my glasses on, because I woke up with the whole sentence in my head. It has absolutely nothing to do with anything I am writing at the moment or have written in the past.
The arrow pierced the T of my shoulder blade with a blow that knocked me over, and drew a line of fierce pain through my body until the point came out of my chest below the collar-bone. The shaft itself prevented my lung from collapsing but every breath was agony.
Now where the hell did that come from? If you can make any sense of it, please let me know!

WRITING AND A BUS

A few days off writing, organizing my desk and filling the recycling bin with paper, has resulted in a refreshed mind. I have completed a 1700 word story for a competition and will send it off once I have run it past my daughter's eagle eyes, and I have the germ of an idea for another competition entry.
The OH goes away on Thursday, after which I plan to tackle the much tougher task of re-writing a novel to re-submit to an agent who showed an interest. Unfortunately the temperature has gone up and my fingers are too sticky to be comfortable for long on the keyboard. Out comes the fan!
ON THE BUSES!
Driving into Guaza the other day I was held up by a green Titsa bus. No problem - I wasn't in a hurry - I assumed there was a van parked in the bis stop, as often happens. When the bus began moving I thought, "Here we go", but it wasn't going far.
Recently the Cabildo have been re-doing the road through Guaza. It has taken them more than a year, and goodness knows how many businesses closed due to the fact that customers literally had to jump ditches to reach them, but finally it was finished.
Except that they had forgotten one pipe, so this day the road was dug up again, and the Guardia had only just arrived to direct traffic. A bendy-bus, me and half-a-dozen other cars, a very narrow road and a junction with a mini-roundabout.
   Give the bus driver his due - when the police had moved a few cars from the road on our right, he backed his articulated bus down there and managed to execute a brilliant 40-point turn. He didn't even run over the roundabout.

CACTUS
Those of you who followed the growth of my cactus flower will be pleased to learn that, far from being slung in the bin by the gardeners, the cactus has been relocated and given its own water supply. Alfredo even took some cuttings from my huge lemon geranium to surround it. So we may even yet see the other flowers emerge from their hard black buds.

FINISHED! (well, kinda)

After a long month of re-writing my first ever book, I have reached the final page!
It has quite a history, this book. I first wrote it at least six years ago – a 180,000 word fantasy. Far too long, of course, but I was carried away with writing. I sent off some submissions and one agent actually asked to see the whole book. With great rejoicing I told family and friends - my kids even baked a cake - and I parcelled it up and had it hand-delivered. After a few weeks it was refused, and it was hugely embarrassing having to tell everyone after the initial euphoria. Back to the Writers' and Artists' Yearbook.

   Then I fell for a scam. I paid £350 “expenses” to another agent who said my book was fantastic and he wished he’d found something similar to read when he was young. I waited six months for him to find the promised publisher, and I had written a 190,000 word sequel before I realized he was a crook. He is still around playing the same tricks, so don’t fall for it!

   But he’d done me a favour in a way because, when I started re-reading my books after a six-month break, I could see a whole raft of things I had done wrong. I did a complete re-write and split the two books into a series of five. Each one is self-contained but there is a theme running through the series, and I sent the first book out to every agent who would consider fantasy. All I got was rejections. Again.

   Now, some years later, having read lots of advice to writers, I have written three other novels and am giving my fantasy series another major overhaul! I have already cut 10,000 words from the first book, re-named it and the whole series. It’s very different now, but last time round I approached most of the possible agents. I am afraid that even now some of them might remember my original submission and reject me without a second glance.

   The moral of my tale? Don’t submit too soon.

 I was so sure the cactus would flower today! I went out armed with my camera and brimming with confidence, but look at it! Still hiding its light under a ficus bush(~el).

The pollinators are sitting on the nearby aloe vera plant with their arms crossed, tapping their feet with impatience. 

Three days ago the bud was as long as my thumb - now it's bigger than my hand.

Imagine what the flower is going to be like!

WRITERS' SQUARE

Our small writers' circle has become a square!
When I joined the writers' circle it was only six people, and one of those was away travelling. Then she came back and another one disappeared. One more joined and hogged the meeting. The member who had brought him had a quiet word which he obviously took badly because we never saw him again.
Then another member returned to England for major surgery, and though we are in touch with her by email, it looks as if she might not come back, and another long-standing member has gone to her homeland for the summer - her husband doesn't like the heat here.
The social life on Tenerife is like this - it is common for people to spend a few months or years here and then vanish. It can be disconcerting or exciting, depending on your outlook, but it makes folk reluctant to invest too much in friendships, knowing they may not last.
Anyway, now we are down to five. One writes books on how to deal with various chronic health conditions with diet and life-style changes, one is writing a diary of her travels in India, another has written a log of his lone Atlantic crossing and is now experimenting with short stories, I write novels, and another writes poems for children. She is off on her travels soon, which will reduce our circle to a square. We may have to advertise!

ALFIE DOG

ALFIE DOG is a new website from which you can download short stories cheaply. There are all kinds from romance to horror, and you could even download a story to read to your children at bedtime.
You can also submit short stories to the site, which is on my own "to do" list. And they pay royalties!
Several of my fellow writers from the Talkback forum on Writers Online have already contributed and the site is easy to follow. Check it out on;   http://alfiedog.com/

SMILE AND THE WORLD SMILES WITH YOU

I was shopping in Las Galletas this morning and I could have made half a dozen new friends (or possibly half a dozen pick-ups) because I couldn't get the smile off my face. Even when my mouth was in serious mode, I could feel my eyes were still smiling, and I got a good few smiles back. Maybe I should do it more often.
The reason for my happy mood? I have booked a flight to Canada! My younger son married a Canadian girl two years ago, and after jumping through all the hoops the Canadian Government required, they moved over there last year. Permanently. Which means that to visit them I must get from Tenerife to Toronto.

I could go either via the UK or mainland Spain. Have you ever spent a few hours waiting for a connecting flight in Madrid airport? Not an experience I wish to repeat. So in September I shall go to England to stay with No1 son and get some grandson cuddles, then to Canada to spend a fortnight with No2 son. I have been promised spectacular fall scenery, a visit to Niagara Falls, and a Thanksgiving party in the north. My son's in-laws are a delightful couple who live round the corner, so I shall have company of my own age too. And on top of all that, both of my daughters-in-law have said they are looking forward to seeing me!

It might be 4 months before I go but I am already wondering how to organize my writing. I'll be away for a whole month and I can't imagine not writing for that length of time. What was that I said on my profile? Oh yes - I'm a compulsive writer. The OH accuses me of being addicted to it - he's right.

BACK TO THE GRINDSTONE

Well, I've had my month off so now it's back to the novels. The A-Z challenge gave my mind a break from thinking about plots, and I can return to my books refreshed. At least, I hope so.
I have one character to make more of a hero - he's a bit wimpish at the moment and we can't have that. Also the book itself was the first one I wrote years ago and, after reading lots of advice, I can see other glaring errors that need fixing.
Another book needs tightening up after which an agent has said she will look at it again, which is more positive a response than I have had for a long time.
So if whether you started following my blog in April or earlier, please keep looking in but don't expect a post every day!

WALKING & WRITING

WALKING

Ten years ago I set off from the top of Adeje town, with my daughter, son-in-law, a friend and a dog, to WALK the Barranco del Infierno = “Hell’s Ravine”. There was a track of sorts, rarely level and very narrow, and there weren’t many places at which we felt safe meeting other WALKERS. Some of the steeper stretches had knee-high steps rough-hewn out of the rock – in other places we were scrambling on hands a knees. Each time we rounded a bulge in the mountainside we could see the track WINDING ahead endlessly, and the sea behind us vanished. Despite the other people on the track, we felt like genuine explorers. There was no shelter from the fierce sun, but WE WERE WEARING hats and sensible shoes and carried WATER. We saw many painfully-pink tourists in flip-flops who hadn’t been that sensible.

Gradually, as we climbed higher and further inland, the reason we had come on this comparatively arduous trek became apparent. A stream trickled over rocks by our feet, ferns and shrubs grew beside the cacti, and trees reminiscent of those in an English WOODLAND shaded us. WITH renewed energy we walked through this WONDERLAND to reach our destination – a small clearing at the foot of a vertical cliff down which a WATERFALL fell into a black pool. This waterfall only flows when there is snow-melt or rain-water from the Adeje mountains, but on an island with no natural springs it was a treat just to sit on the small beach and listen to the splash.

We paddled, of course, and dipped our hands and faces in the icy pool, and then started back. The 90 minute return journey took us from cool woodland to baked goat-track again, and by the time we reached the car I was knackered, but it had been WORTH it.

Six months later I had a hip replacement, and I haven’t done anything like that since, but there are many lovely walks to be had on Tenerife. If you’re fit and WANT to tackle any of them as a change from the beach, look on the relevant WEBSITES -  Try  http://walkingtenerife.blogspot.com.es

The free paper Island Connections reported this week that nine Cabildos (Councils) in the south of Tenerife are planning to open a website in the next few months featuring walks, among other rural tourism options. You will be able to download GPS co-ordinates too – technology goes trecking!

The following advice comes from Maurice, an online Tenerife friend who is miles fitter than I am!

 I suppose you could say, "walks are what you do daily but serious walks are actually Treks.” 
If you look at www.webtenerife.co.uk/activities/amongst-nature/footpaths/ you will find a list of good treks & descriptions etc.
Not too many people know that the Teide National Parks Authority do 'guided' walks - mostly in Spanish - and they also have easy walking maps (graded walks) for the National Park. They are written in Spanish, German & English and are available from The Park information centres at El Portillo, the Parador & Boca de Tauce.

 There are quite a few walking groups based in Puerto de la Cruz, Los Gigantes, Los Cristianos, Teno & Anaga. Some are 'private' and some are small businesses (usually self employed guides). Various nationalities are involved but German, Spanish & English prevail.

WATER . Regular followers of my blog will have noticed how often I mention water – or rather, the lack of it. We manage remarkably well for an island with no rivers, and this is due mainly to geology but also to hard work. Rainwater and snow-melt from the mountain filter down through the permeable volcanic rock to 1000 underground galleries and 500 WELLS. The pine trees in the forest contribute by condensing moisture from the clouds – the needles on Canarian pines point the ‘WRONG WAY’ to ensure the water doesn’t evaporate. 50% of the water collected goes on agriculture and the rest must supply the needs of 2 million residents and 10 million annual visitors. So please don’t WASTE IT! (The photo below is one of the water galleries, which can be full of toxic gas, so don't walk into any!)

WRITING It wasn’t until I had lived here for a few years that I considered writing a novel. I have always loved WORDS, so perhaps it was bound to happen sooner or later, and retirement gave me the leisure to try. Also when I told my younger son I was bored, he told me to write a book!

I find Spanish cafeterias strangely restful places to write, because although I can speak Spanish it isn’t my native tongue, and it’s easy to filter out the background noise. When I am finally published I shall have to get my book translated into Spanish for the cafeteria owners who bring me coffee and turn the light on so that I can write.

I belong to a tiny writers’ circle here, but I am too far away to attend many writing events in the UK. I took out a subscription to the Writing Magazine last year, and its online forum Talkback helps to lift the feeling of isolation from the English literary WORLD – I WISH I had started reading it years ago!

LINDA & LOS ABRIGOS

LINDA means “pretty” in Spanish – an appropriate name for my daughter-in-LAW - And of course, L is for LOVE.

LANDING in Tenerife you will see, LURKING in the terminal, LINES of tour operators waiting to LEAD their LAMBS to the coaches and whisk them off to their hotels. Too many of these are all-inclusive these days and consequently the average tourist LEAVES again without catching more than a glimpse of our LOVELY island.

LUCKILY there are some who will venture out, board a bus or hire a car, and LAUNCH themselves into the unknown. It’s almost impossible to get really LOST because if you’re going up there’s Mount Teide as a LANDMARK, and if you’re going down there’s the Atlantic. So LEAVE the beach or the pool for a day and explore - even the most ordinary of towns can be hiding secret treasures behind the tourist façade. For example ---
LOS ABRIGOS is a village near the airport. The seafront has been pesestrianized in recent years, and when you walk past the tiny church you will find, overlooking the small harbour, a wealth of restaurants. It's worth visiting just for the food. There's a langostera in a side street that guarantees your seafood will be fresh, though I'd better warn you - even my OH can't manage more than five langostinos - they're huge.

But to work up
an appetite before you eat, take a stroll up the slope on the far side of the harbour, where you will find a rocky cove with the original landing–place for boats – a LETHAL one-in-three ramp with planks inlaid for purchase. Above the cove, a narrow pathway winds round a house and along the steep cliff-face to the top road.

Steps near the ramp take you past a boat-shed where they still make and repair boats, to a tangle of LITTLE LANES between the houses of the old village that LIE clustered together for protection against the Atlantic winds. My daughter-in-law, who is an artist, took some wonderful photographs of old doors and windows for her thesis.

After this dip into the past you can spend a LEISURELY evening eating your dinner overlooking the harbour, LISTENING to the wavelets LAP the rocks, LAZILY LOOKING at the stars, and watching the LIGHTS reflected in the LIMPID waters.

And this is spooky. When I LOADED this photo of a terrace garden onto my LAPTOP, it asked me “Who is this?” But there’s nobody in the picture. LOOK very closely at the white wall in the front of the picture and you might just see a crack and a spot that could add up to a face – or a ghost?

LABELS ARE LIMITING. What exactly does LITERARY mean in the writing world? We’re advised to check out an agent before submitting, and the word literary has always puzzled me. I write stories – who decides if they’re LITERATURE or not?

Sitting on my computer is a completed book about a young LABOURER-cum-petty criminal who rescues an abused boy, and how the Strange Adoption changes both their LIVES. A professional critic and my writers’ circle say it should definitely be published, but if I can’t fit it into a category, how can I pitch it to an agent?

LASTLY, for anyone who has been missing my Toy Poems – go on the poem page to read about Boofuls the LAVENDER bear.

A Floating Muse?

I am sitting up in bed with a sore throat and a temperature so this will probably be a bit garbled.
I have had a strangely similar conversation three times this week, in which I was encouraging others to write.

   The first was D whose personal diary of his solo Atlantic voyage I typed up for him. I then said he should at least publish a few copies for his grandchildren and suggested some modest improvements,. That was before Christmas and he has followed my advice by adding photos and a rigging plan to explain his references to sails.
Then blow me down - from an initial reluctance even to consider his "scribblings" as a book (40.000w) he has come to two Writers' Circle meetings with me. On the way home last Monday he said, "D'ye know, Liz - I might even try my fist at a short story."
  Then P turned up to stay with us for a week of R&R and we got talking about his writing. He says he likes describing scenery, settings etc, and can visualize his characters easily, but gets bored with his plot when only two chapters into a book. Try writing short stories, I said, and he might do just that.
  This morning the OH and I attended a reception for the British Ambassador to Spain in Santa Cruz. (I'm only along as spouse of the Chairman of the RBL) and there was N, a woman I met last year in Madrid, waiting in a designated spot to have our hands shaken by HRH Charles. N had an MBE for being a prison visitor for many years, and she said, as you do, "I've got enough stories to fill a book."I said "Why not try?" She took my email address and said she'd be in touch. Of course she didn't, but today she decided my re-appearance must be a sign to get on with writing.
   So am I a floating muse?

WHY I WROTE THOSE TOY POEMS


Here I was, newly retired and moved to Tenerife, and I was bored. So my younger son said, "Write a book".
The very idea was daunting, but I had written poetry all my life, so I set out to write a book of poems for my children and grandchildren, which I illustrated myself.
The characters are their soft toys. For this camping holiday in 1976 we restricted them to two each, but they had dozens.
The adventures these toys get up to in the poems often reflect some incident in, or aspect of, their owner's lives, so the book of 40+ poems is very personal to them.
A couple of my own dolls, and one or two of their father's, sneaked in there too, and of course, Margaret's bear and Kevin's Woms.

Then when I'd made eight copies, coloured in the drawings and sent the books off in time for Christmas, I was bored again. So I started my first novel.