These are two of my favourite writers! I couldn’t reisist reblogging this absolutely great interview. In parts it made me laugh because Toni Kief is a great character, she often cheers me up with her posts, comments and writing.
Julia Blake, is a very gifted writer and she has just started this new blog. Previously she wrote Facebook posts with acompanying photos. When I saw she had posted, I always wanted to read what she had to say because it I knew it would be entertaining. Now I’m thrilled she has started blogging properly. So do go over and follow her as you will enjoy what she has to say.
I’ve also read some of her books, they are clever and all different. You can see the reviews on Karen Book Buzz Blog.
Gosh, its not until I’ve listed them I’ve realised how many I’ve read. My favourite? It has to be Lost and Found closely followed by Fixture and Fittings, or maybe the other way round!
Do women become invisible as they get older? That is certainly the opinion of this week’s guest the fabulously funny author, Toni Kief. Author of five independently published books, she made a conscious decision to have her heroines buck the trend and consequently they are smart, opinionated, determined and are definitely what would be termed […]
Be sure to follow Julia’s blog and read this fascinating interview.
Today is chill out Sunday. A day to sit back and relax, which is what I did. This made me think of the all the things I’d achieved last week.
Besides writing, I love crafts and the top row of the picture shows containers made from painted recycled baked beans tins. With a little decoration and a cross stitch picture, they look totally different.
I also played around with pom-poms and made this cool little owl.
Next to that are flowers in a pot made from crocheted daisies.
The pink knitting is actually a multicoloured wool where it changes colour the more you knit. I saw this cute baby hat that seemed quick and easy to make, so started it last night.
I walk my dogs every day and if we go to the park we come across this beautiful palamino horse. Last year, I was calling one of the dogs back, when the horse came running over. Now I make sure I have a carrot with me, so I can give him a shout and and stroke him, too.
And lastly I have a new Electric Eclectic book coming out. The Magic of Stories has been republished under the EE banner, and is full of short stories and poetry with a new cover and even more content. It will have a slightly different launch to that we have done before. I look forward to sharing it with you soon.
What about your week? What have you achieved or done, we’d love to know 🙂
I was listening to the radio this morning and they were talking about exclusion zones outside abortion clinics. It was appalling to hear how women entering them were being harassed. It must be a difficult decision to have an abortion in the first place. There would be a lot of soul searching beforehand.
There are many reasons why a woman would choose this as an option. One mentioned on the radio was when the baby is not viable or deformed. It could be that the couple had been trying for so long and then devastated to discover they wouldn’t be having a child after all. Then to be harassed and shown photos by protesters outside a clinic make a bad situation worse.
The protesters are very passionate about preserving life but ultimately it’s not their body, their state of mind, or their choice. To protest is perfectly acceptable, but not at the cost of causing more upset and anxiety as a result.
It reminded me of when I was pregnant thirty five years ago, I had a good friend who was an anti-abortion protester. She sent me photographs of an aborted foetus, I don’t really know why, and guess she wanted to highlight the subject. I found the graphic photographs upsetting, and as a result, we fell out and never spoke again.
In Joanna’s Destiny, she faces the dilemma of what to do with an unwanted pregnancy. The father could be one of two men. One, an encounter that should never have happened. One of those, ‘at a party, too much too drink’ things. Besides, Joanna hated Kane, he was her nemesis, and the thought of having his baby made her shudder.
This is the moment it happened. They had been at a party at a villa in France. Joanna had just taken revenge on a girl who beat her up at a nightclub. Kane had instigated the revenge, and Joanna was so angry with him, she fled outside.
‘There was a small clearing in the bushes, overlooking the bay. Joanna sat down near the fence and put buried head in her hands. Sometimes she was such an idiot. She shouldn’t have done that. Why did I play straight into his hands?
Suddenly he was there, standing beside her. “Here, drink this.” He handed her a large tumbler. Standing up, she grabbed it, not caring what it was and knocked it back. It made her feel hazy, but relaxed. The music, still loud enough to hear, throbbed through her. Kane was watching her and removed a strand of hair from her face. “She’s gone.
Claudine’s gone now.”
“Good,” she sighed, leaning her head against him. She felt surreal as if she wasn’t there. It was like she was watching herself from somewhere else.
Kane’s hands were rubbing her shoulders blades, and when she arched her neck, his mouth came down, and he eased her to the floor.
Joanna was lost in the moment. His kisses were tantalisingly good. She shivered, and her body arching towards his. At the back of her mind, she knew she should not do this, but felt powerless. Her dress fell to the grass, and she hadn’t even realised until his mouth was on her nipples. Her body felt like it was pulsating towards the music accentuating her sudden deep need. It was one she hadn’t felt for a long time.
As Kane manoeuvred himself into position, she had a moment of clarity. “Kane, no!” He didn’t respond, or perhaps he hadn’t heard her. Maybe she didn’t want him to stop.’
The other man was rock star Niko D’Angelo. She loved him and he loved her back except he had a carreer and was always on the road. She would hate for people to think she had trapped him. Beside, he once told her he didn’t want children.
‘Joanna sat opposite him, so she could watch him as he spoke. “She got pregnant,” Niko continued. “We married and then everything I did was wrong. She’d somehow gotten in with my family. I had an album to record, and she wanted me with her. Hell, I think she expected me to carry that damn baby.” Joanna felt uncomfortable as she drank slowly. “I was trying to write and record, and she complained all the time. My mom gave me lectures, my sisters gave me lectures…it was shit!” He got up and refilled his now empty glass. Joanna shook her head as he raised the bottle to her. He was looking tired.
“So, what did you do?”
“I tried to do the right thing, stopped what I was doing and spent time with her. It still wasn’t good enough. After the baby birth, I was keen to get back to work.”
Joanna couldn’t help but sympathise. She knew how important it was to him. How could anyone tell him not to?
“Everyone thought I should spend time with the baby. All it did was yell, and I couldn’t work with that racket. Things went from bad to worse and finally I’d had enough and walked out.”
“You left her holding the baby?”
“I know it sounds bad. Things were bad. That’s why my family won’t talk to me. I had pressure from the record company as I was still under contract. I was just being pulled both ways, and no one understood the other side. Something had to give and it sure as hell would not be my career!”’
As if Joanna’s life wasn’t complicated enough, there was her boyfriend Mike to consider. He hadn’t wanted children, she had known that from the start. He was horrified to find out she was pregnant and felt betrayed. The moment he told her what he wanted came as a shock as she always thought she could talk him round. As a couple, Joanna and Mike hardly ever rowed but things were different now.
‘Joanna folded her arms and glowered at him. “This is also my house too, and I’m not going anywhere, either.”
“Fine,” he snapped, “but get rid of it.”
“You heard me. Get to the doctor and tell him you want an abortion.”
“I can’t,” she gasped, realising that she couldn’t do that.
“Can’t or won’t.”
“I lost one child. I can’t kill another.” And that was the truth of it.
Mike looked stern. “You either get rid of it or piss off with it.”
“Mike!” she cried.
“I mean it, Joanna – it’s me or it, and I’m not having it in my house.”
That night as she lay in bed, she realised she hadn’t told him about Niko after all and went over her options. The following day she made an appointment with a clinic. It was awful as there was no one to talk to, and no one to tell her she was doing the right thing.’
I’m delighted to share these wonderful words of wisdom by writer Joni Martins. They made me chuckle, as how many times have you done this?
Just came across a fun picture I thought I would share.
As you may be aware, I’m currently still working on ‘Diary of a Female GP’. This is nearing completion, albeit slowly. The book is based on the real-life experiences of a very close friend who worked as a GP. Although the stories have been changed slightly, the names are different and some of them have simply been chucked together, similar things have come across her path.
When I saw the image below, I just had to share it with you. It also reminded me of the mug her husband gave to her recently. It said: “Please don’t confuse your Google Search with my Medical Degree”.
And I can see how that could be annoying. Imagine John going to the GP after doing a search on the internet of his symptoms. He has had an itch on his scalp for a few days (he also has three young children in primary school who incidently also have been scratching their scalps but he has not taken this into consideration).
Guess what? His symptoms have now made him convinced, after the Google Search, he is suffering from Multiple Sclerosis.
It takes his GP a long time to convince him, after finding out the kids are scratching their heads too and head lice is rife at school once more, that John has picked up head lice from his kids. Even after the GP has confirmed the diagnosis by seeing the nits on his hair and scalp, John still needs convincing and reassurance there is no need to be referred to a neurologist to rule out Multiple Sclerosis. Still convinced the Google Search must be correct (the internet is always right, right?), John only agrees after the GP has reassured him he can come back if the symptoms don’t improve after treatment of the head lice.
I hope I have not made you scratch your head now with this story. Often people start scratching their head when you tell these stories. I also hope I have not made you paranoid now you may have head lice!???!! 😂😜😉😉
As time has gone on, Father’s Day has become easier. I lost my dad in September of 2010. For a reason I can’t explain, I don’t want to put his face on Facebook as a memoriam with all the other ‘remembering my dad’ posts.
This morning I came across another perpective by author Julia Blake, a single mum. It’s an interesting read, and if like me you get a quarter way down and wonder why her Father’s Day was not pointed at Granddad instead, it does, eventually. The point was that years ago, school didn’t think of single familes, and I’m glad its changed. Give it a read a leave a comment.
I came across this on an old blog I used to keep, and thought it appropiate to post for Father’s Day.
Once upon a time I had two dads, one with hard brown eyes and the other with soft ones.
The dad with the hard eyes was a police officer who worked long shifts. He had a short temper and shouted at us for making too much noise.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing, long hours, four children, and a wage that was barely enough to support a family.
I hated it when mum used those words, “Wait till your dad gets home!” The sound of the front door closing made me dread those hard, flat, angry eyes,
“Apologise to your mother,” or “Get up to your room now!” Was what he usually said.
It was worse when I got older and given a curfew, as all my friends were allowed to come home when they liked. Dad always wanted to know where I was going and who I was going with. He disapproved of my ‘going into town’ because that was ‘his patch’ and he knew all the bad pubs and clubs. Without explanation he would ban me.
Now I know he was being protective and although it caused conflict, I hated him laying down the law.
Now I just wish he was back here with me where we could talk about it, and I could tell him how I finally understood.
My other dad, the one with soft brown eyes, would make me laugh. “Give me your hand and I shall tell your fortune,” he would say. Then taking hand he’d peered at it, “I can see a farmhouse,” I looked closely and saw nothing but a criss-cross of lines. “And here,” he said, “is a pond.” Then he spat in my hand.
“Dad!” I would scream, and it was funny as I watched him do it to my siblings.
Holidays were fun too. We’d walk up hills and down the other side. We’d collect seashells on the beach and climb rocks. He built us, not just sand castles, but racing cars with seats and steering wheels.
He’d cover us in sand so that just our head was showing, or take us to a field where we would chase moles that only he could see.
Whereever he went, we followed. He’d do silly things like walk with a limp and we’d copy him, or he’d run and then walk and we’d all bang into each other.
He couldn’t tell a joke because he’d always forget the punch line, or the laughter in his eyes gave it all away.
The police officer finally hung up his helmet and the hard brown eyes became soft all the time.
Now we’ve grown up and left home, Dad and Mum had a their second family, four adopted children. They never saw the policeman with the hard eyes.
Dad eventually ran our of energy to run along beaches and began to walk with a real limp. He still continued to tells fortunes, and his laughing eyes always gave away the jokes.
He died of pancreatic cancer in September 2010. Every father’s day, I remember these things and they make me smile.
My father was a bear at times. He laid a hand to my hind quarters when I did something wrong. When my younger brother was suspended from high school for mooning out of a bus, he yelled, “When I see you, you’d better have a book in your hand. If you want to do something useful, chop wood.” He often got into shouting matches with my mother, especially when he was drunk.
Life with Dad wasn’t all bad, though. I spent many happy hours with him listening to jazz. At the age of six, my favorite song was Fats Waller’s “Your Feet’s Too Big.” When my younger brother and I formed a band with me on piano and him on drums, Dad often played along on string bass. When my younger brother developed an interest in photography, Dad helped him turn our third-floor bathroom into a dark room.