Fellow writers! Today I am interested in time management, and I only have thirty minutes to be interested before I have to go out. How do you do it? I’m in a weird position, just over four years ago I had to give up nursing because I have MS. Now, I manage my symptoms well but this takes a lot of time. For the first two years of retirement, I was inundated with people popping around to visit. Sounds nice? Well, without sounding ungrateful, because I had up to ten visits per week this meant that I didn’t have time to look after myself, or… what I am getting to I didn’t have time to write. Move on to 2018, I am now doing a degree in Creative Writing and have published three books (soon to be four), the people that are in my life now understand and are flexible. But! I am struggling to find the time to write. Reason being, some of my week is spent doing physical therapies, and having allocated rest times. Now, I am the token ‘helper’ and marketing executive of my husband and mine’s woodfired pizza business. Although this has been good, physically, I am finding it hard. I still feel guilty if I am too tired to go to things that I used to do, but I’m too tired to move by 7pm. Or having to say no to people. Sometimes I am convinced that my body will not catch up with my brain, that I have too many ideas and not enough energy. I have thought about going to a specific place to write, such as a café or a pub! For now though, while I’m hoping to get finish the next in the series of my next books ‘Curmudgeon Avenue’ I think I will just have to be stricter with my routine. Interested to know how other writers cope with writing/life balance?
They say that walls have ears, and some even say that walls can talk. So when Curmudgeon Avenue takes a disliking to its new owners the four storey Victorian terraced house starts narrating a diary about the intertwined lives of the various new inhabitants and extended family. If Curmudgeon Avenue has to put up with this set of nincompoops from Whitefield, Manchester then so should you.
Sisters Edna and Edith inherit the first house on Curmudgeon Avenue from their parents Mr and Mrs Payne who were killed in a freak accident involving an elephant. The two sisters could not be more different if they tried, and now they have to live together in the house they grew up in several decades ago, bringing the baggage of the past with them for our enjoyment. It seems that Edith cannot stop bumping into ex lovers of her older sister, Edna. First there is Maurice – you won’t believe what happened with him. Then, whilst Edith is heartbroken and vulnerable, she meets the notable Harold – another ex of Edna’s who she really does not want to see. With Edith’s son Ricky Ricketts and his on/off girlfriend Wantha (yes that really is her name),
trying to protect the sisters it is only a matter of time before Curmudgeon Avenue is filled with laughter. But then things change when yet another ex of Edna’s returns, Madame Genevieve Dubois (although things are not as they might seem with this French woman). This enjoyable novella will introduce you to the wacky and wonderful series of Curmudgeon Avenue – enjoy!
Soon to be published Samantha Henthorn. Copyright 2018, sign up email to follow.
Now that I am 43,
it’s time the world knew.
I know how to load my dishwasher.
A boring conversation, so why bother?
If I’m having a wine, I’ll do it tomorrow.
Now that I am 43, it’s time for me to say;
ask me if I’m ‘alright’ with your head on one side,
‘am I REALLY alright?’ It’s not your business,
Now that I am 43 I don’t want to spend hours on the phone.
I’m working from home so please leave me alone.
I’m middle aged you still think I’m a child.
Soon I will be old and wise,
I’ve got that to look forward to anyway.
Now that I am 43 it’s time the world knew,
that I am free to have my hair dyed blue,
to water the flowers, not the weeds
Life is to short to repeat
the same mistakes.Don’t throw away my
and don’t piss on my chips.
Now that I am 43 I don’t care about the size of my ass,
or anything else, for that matter.
I’ve learnt you can’t polish a turd.
Selfies at my age would be absurd.
Mind my own bee’s wax, easy, unconcerned.
Loving life writing what I write,
I’ve done my time looking after you.
So emotional vampires please keep your drama,
you have my sympathy but not my guilt,
your pity party can remain in situ.
Searching the house from top to bottom
for non-existent cat food I’d forgotten.
Did they send those tickets out?
My electric shredder is causing me doubt.
It’s hit and miss if the milk returns to the fridge
I can’t remember, did I do this?
Daughter says she told me
Husband says my memory
is not as good as I think it is
as I take a guess at this cognitive quiz.
Marigold Bradshaw was always going to do well for herself in life. This was obvious on the Bradshaw family photograph, captured in sepia when Marigold was fourteen and Rose was age nine. Marigold, imposing and impressive on the back row, shoulders straight, hair behaving itself, brand new dress. The centre of the photograph, the centre of attention, her proudly positioned head articulated ‘I plan to marry well’. Marigold stood above her little sister Rose, perched upon a three-legged stool underneath Marigold. Head bowed, small and shy with her hair in her eyes, and a hand me down dress. Rose had no plan, but in life, received a surprise. Marigold pitied her little sister, but it was not her job to pass judgement; not on a Sunday.
Above is a snippet from chapter one about Ernest’s mother and Auntie Marigold. 1962 is Ernest’s story, he has ambition to become the next cycling champion to hail from 1960s Lancashire… Trouble is, it’s 1962- nuclear war is in the news and his mother is petrified. I hope you will join Ernest in this journey story, especially whilst it is on special offer!https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B074P5TNTJ
I felt so much emotion writing this one, the first I published. Set in WWI, Lillian is missing her older brother Joe. When their parents receive a telegram informing them of the worst, Lillian discovers Joe’s spirit is living on in a series of comforting events. Originally written as a children’s book, adults seem to enjoy it more, Piccalilly is very loosely based on a family story- there’s my own Nana on the cover! Free for 5 days.