Author: anneethompson

Wandering in New York City

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We decided to walk from the bottom of Manhattan up to Central Park.

The weather was clear and bright, we were still on UK clocks, so after a 6am breakfast in Westway diner (614 Ninth Ave) we hailed a cab and set off.

There was some confusion when we tried to explain to the taxi driver where we wanted to go. I wanted to start at ‘The Charging Bull’, so we gave the street address, which he didn’t recognise. I remember being caught out by this before – in London, a black cab driver knows every street in London, but in NY, you sometimes need to give directions. Eventually he worked out we wanted the “Wall Street Bull” (even though it isn’t on Wall Street) and we were taken to the right place. He was then quite chatty, and suggested we walk across Brooklyn Bridge.

Although we have visited New York many times (we used to live here – though that was about 20 years ago now, which I find slightly scary) we have never walked on the Brooklyn Bridge. (We did most other things, and visited the World Trade Centre and Liberty Island about 1,000 times, because all our UK visitors always wanted to go there.) So, we set off. We walked past Seaport, and after a slight David-detour, we found the pedestrian access to the bridge. It was still early, and lots of keep-fit types were running across the bridge, looking very intense with their fitness apps and running gear. We tried to keep out their way, and wandered across. Brooklyn Bridge has some of the best views of the island, so was worth visiting just for the photo opportunity. Though some people do take an incredibly long time composing their photos, even when it’s just taken on a phone (just saying).

We then walked up the island, through the different districts. I love doing this, as you get a real flavour of the cosmopolitan place that is New York City. Past City Hall and Foley Square (very like city of London) through China Town, into Little Italy, up through NoHo, to the Flatiron building. Then we got hungry, and went back to a very crowded Westway diner for lunch (everyone else was eating breakfast). According to my phone, we walked 18km.

 

 Lafayette Patisserie is a nice place to stop. I hope you like the hat. It got a surprising number of comments, all from Husband, all derogatory. Have put ‘new hat’ on Christmas list. NY is cold though, you need a hat.

 

 

 

 

The next day we walked the length of Central Park. We could have spent hours in there, wandering around, it’s huge. In the past we have taken a boat out on the lake, or visited the zoo, and when the kids were young they used to climb over the Alice in Wonderland statue. It brought back lots of memories. (And was 15km.)

My last day, we decided to walk across the island, to see Roosevelt Island. On the way, we passed a large glass window, into a large room with about 20 dogs, and a girl throwing a ball for them. It was a doggy day-care centre. I’m not sure Kia would be impressed, but it looked okay actually if you have a sociable dog.

We walked past the United Nations Building, which I remember as a completely different building, so think I must’ve labelled some old photos wrongly. It all looked rather foreboding, with lots of security.

We also saw a giant inflatable rat, which the unions put outside buildings that they deem to have bad working conditions.

We saw Queensboro Bridge, which goes over Roosevelt Island, but doesn’t stop on it. There was a cable car, but I hate cable cars and refused, absolutely, to go in it. Husband was understanding. In return, I went into Home Depot with him (used to be his favourite shop when we lived there. It’s full of man-stuff). We walked passed Carnegie Hall, along E59th, along the bottom of Central Park. We bought coffee and bagels for lunch.

I flew home the next day. I love New York City, it’s a city you can visit many times, and usually find something new to discover, or an old memory to revisit. There’s always lots to do, shows to see, galleries, museums, restaurants….but best of all, I think, is simply to wander around.

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Thank you for reading.
You can follow my blog at: anneethompson.com

xxx

New York in November

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The day after Thanksgiving is an excellent time to arrive in New York. The fares are cheaper, you miss most of the shopping frenzy, and everywhere is beginning to get ready for Christmas. New York decorates very beautifully for Christmas.

Husband was working in Manhattan, so I joined him for a few days. I needed to get home in time for multiple Christmas Fairs (great time to sell books) so I decided I would keep to a slightly late English clock. This worked brilliantly, as New York at 6am is fantastic. You can wander along empty streets, all the shops are shut (am not a shopper) and there are enough diners open so eating is easy (I am an eater!)

 

We mainly ate at Westway Diner, 614 Ninth Avenue. It has a plaque up, saying it is the birthplace of the Seinfeld series, but mainly it’s just a great New York diner. I got used to this when we lived here, and I love coming back, and slipping back into the easy routine of eating whenever I want: comfy booths, constantly topped up coffee, huge portions of comfort food, fast service. Nowhere in the world does pancakes, bacon and maple syrup quite like New York. Or cinnamon bagels with cream cheese. Or waffles with bananas and pecans. Or blueberry pie and cream. Really, I come to New York just to eat.

The decorations are good too though. As I said, 6am is the best time, as later there are queues of people lining up to see the displays in the big shops. Saks on Fifth Avenue, Macy’s, Bloomingdales, Cartier – not places I would enjoy entering, but beautiful displays for Christmas. Outside, the Salvation Army ring handbells and collect money for charity. Even the banks make an effort.

There are lots of little parks, with Christmas markets (not that they call them that – they are keen to remove all religion, so they are “Winter Markets”. But everyone knows they are for Christmas.) I especially liked the one in Bryant Park. Early morning, you can wander round, looking at all the wonderful stuff which is great to look at, but you wouldn’t want to actually own it, and no one hassles you to buy.

People are very friendly in the mornings – lots of cheery greetings from the bin men (and homeless people)! New York generates a lot of rubbish, so there seem to be piles of it awaiting collection on every street. You can also, if bored, play a fun game of “spot the rats”.

The main thing to remember in New York, is to look up. At street level, many of the buildings look like boring offices, but several storeys up, they have wonderful carved facades and decorations. Husband assures me this is because when touting for work, architects make models, which are viewed from above, so all the fancy bits are where they will be seen by prospective buyers but are never noticed when the real building is actually built. Not sure if that’s true or not.

You should also visit Trump Tower. Whatever you think of the man or the politics, you have to agree that his tower has the cleanest, fanciest public washrooms in New York. And finding public washrooms you want to use is quite hard in New York.

We also popped into St Patricks Cathedral. They have a Nativity scene, which includes a dog. Not entirely sure this is at all accurate, but it’s sweet to look at. There is also a sign, assuring you that if you donate money, you will receive more in the future. Am sure this is not accurate and was slightly shocked by the gall of it. But it’s a nice building to visit.

We stayed at the Four Points by Sheraton, on 40th between 8th and 9th. It was a great position for seeing things, as it’s just down from Times Square and an easy walk from Westway diner. However, it is not the nicest area. You can do a Google search for ‘safe places in New York city’ and there is a map, which shades areas according to how safe they are. Our hotel didn’t score too well – which, as it’s behind the bus station, sandwiched between the Probation office and various sex shops, was understandable. However, whilst I wouldn’t have walked outside after dark on my own, it was fine. And the hotel inside was clean and comfy.

Unfortunately, there is an Apple shop, and Husband was keen to look. Apple shops are very boring, and have a weird queue system, whereby the very long line of people are ordering the new iphoneX, and if you want to buy anything else you have to ask the man in the red fleece, who will put you on a list. However, if you write a blog, there is hours of fun to be had, making every display model look at your blog – which does wonders for the number of views you receive in a day! (But don’t tell anyone, is probably not very ethical.)

 

We decided to walk from the bottom of Manhattan to the park. I’ll tell you about it in a later blog. Why not sign up to follow my blog, then you won’t miss it. anneethompson.com

Thank you for reading.

Here are some more displays, for those of you who like pretty Christmas stuff!

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Christmas is coming, and books make great gifts. So much nicer than yet another scarf for Aunty Joan… So, why not buy one of my books? Available from an Amazon near you.

  

 

xxx

The Charging Bull in the Financial District

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Here’s something to think about. I popped to New York (husband on a work trip) and while there I went to see the sculpture of a charging bull in the Financial District. It’s big, raging, and impressive. It has also caused some controversy.

Apparently, bulls have long been associated with the stock market. A rising trend in the markets is known as “a bull market” and a falling trend is known as a “bear market”. Which is why you tend to have The Bull and Bear pubs situated near old markets in the City of London. The Charging Bull, however, was meant to signify something else. Charging Bull was sculpted by Anturo Di Modica in 1989. It was after the stock market crash of 1987, and he wanted to create a symbol of the “strength and power of American people”. The bull is twisting and turning, full of unpredictable energy and strength. I like it.

Now, Di Modica wasn’t commissioned to make the bull, nor was he paid for it. He had the rather clever idea of making five bulls, and placing one in New York (for free) and hoping to sell the other four. As a self-published author, I can relate to his feelings – you just want people to notice and appreciate your talents, then you hope the sales will follow. (Not sure a book placed in a park would work as well though.) Initially, NYPD impounded the bull, but so many people liked it, they were compelled to return it to the street. There are now bulls in Shanghai and Amsterdam (which I assume were paid for). So Di Modica’s gamble paid off. Sort of.

The problem arose later this year, when State Street Global Advisors had a clever marketing strategy of their own (possibly inspired by the success of the Charging Bull). They commissioned Kristen Visbal to make a sculpture of the Fearless Girl, and they placed it in front of the bull. Now, the unleashed power and strength of the bull appear aggressive. The placing of the girl has completely changed the image of the bull. Di Modica is rather annoyed by this, and I guess as he owns the bull, he might come and collect it one day. Alternatively, I think he should make another sculpture – of a calling mother shouting towards the girl. Then instead of being a brave, ‘fearless girl’ she would look like a defiant, stupid child. But then that could go on forever, and probably Wall Street doesn’t want hundreds of sculptures, each one changing the image of the other. (Would make for a good exhibition though, someone should do it.)

Now, what I want you to think about, is this. One thing can very much change in the light of something else. I remember, not so long ago, when the news reports were full of fleeing Syrian refugees, and most people felt very sorry for them. People made big statements about the world needing to help, that our country should allow them in, famous people even announced that they would be willing to house a few families in their mansions. Which were all good, well motivated, human responses.

However, today my local authority is discussing plans to build lots of new houses. No one wants them. No one is discussing who will live in them (and probably it won’t be Syrian refugees, but it will, I assume, be people who do need houses) but no one wants them. Not in our fields, not where we walk our dog, not within sight of our house. You see, the view of meeting the housing needs of others changes. As perhaps, do people’s views about everything. Whenever we make a statement, we need to be aware that unless we see the whole story, our views are likely to change. The strength and power of the American people can look like an aggressive charge against a defenceless girl. And a brave girl can look like a naughty child being stupid. It depends what else is in the picture.

 

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Thank you for reading.
You can sign up to follow my blog at anneethompson.com.

 

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Christmas is coming, and books make great gifts. So much nicer than yet another scarf for Aunty Joan… So, why not buy one of my books?

  

 

xxx

Are you a Country Bumpkin or a Townie?

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 Yesterday, Husband told me he was bringing home a team from work for a planning meeting. Something of a shock. He had asked, ages ago, if it would be okay, and I assured him that was fine. But I never actually wrote a date in the diary, and I had assumed he would remind me about a week in advance. I had assumed wrong. Which means the last few hours have been a frenzy of cleaning. Don’t tell anyone, but I really hate doing housework, and my house, whilst hygienic, is not the cleanest house in the world. Which is fine – I don’t think a dirty floor will kill anyone – until we have visitors who are Townies.

So, what is a Townie – and are you one?

I first heard the term many many years ago, soon after meeting husband for the first time. He was this tall, blond, slim boy with very tight jeans. I kinda liked him. So when he invited me for a drive (in battered old Beetle) I was keen to accept. I wasn’t expecting we would stop for a walk. And I wasn’t expecting that the unplanned walk would be through woods. We had recently moved south from Letchworth. They don’t really have woods in Letchworth. My (very pretty) stiletto heels weren’t really up to a hike through a muddy wood. Tall slim blond boy told me I should’ve worn wellies. I told him I didn’t own any wellies. He was flabbergasted. And called me a Townie. I took it as a compliment.

So, the first question has to be, do you own wellies? If so, are they expensive, designer wellies or ones with a pattern on? A true Country Bumpkin would never own such things – where’s the point in wellies covered in dots when said dots will be covered in duck poo within a day? I now pretty much live in wellies. They are extremely dirty, but essential for how I live.

Next question is, when it’s hot, do you open windows? When you live in the country, you can only open windows if the fields nearby don’t have cows in them. A field full of cows is also a field full of flies, so if you open windows, your house will also be full of flies. It also means you will wake at dawn every morning, because the cockerels are extremely loud at that time.

Does your house have carpets throughout? If so, they will either be grubby, or you live in a town. People who live in the country tend to have animals. Animals tend to bring a lot of the countryside inside with them. So carpets are not terribly practical. You need at least some areas with hard floors that can be washed occasionally. My house has mostly floor tiles (and dog hairs and the odd lump of mud). People have been known to walk through my house in wellies, which I don’t encourage, but when they do it doesn’t ruin anything, it just means I have to wash the floor.

Do you notice poo smells? People tend to think of the countryside as far reaching views across fields, birds singing, lots of green. Which it is. But it also smells of poo much of the time. Cows and horses smell like – cows and horses. Sheep are possibly the smelliest animals alive. Fields of wheat are spread with muck, and said muck tends to travel, especially on windy days, into gardens and lanes and open windows….I can’t say I’m keen on poo smells, but I am sort of used to them.

Do you drive a low profile car? When we moved here, I had a very beautiful Mercedes Coupe. It was lovely to drive on roads, not so great in country lanes. Lanes are narrow, so if another vehicle comes you have to drive up onto the verge. They also get really muddy when the tractors use them. In the Winter, if there’s too much rain, the streams flood them. If there’s snow, the lanes are the last to be cleared and are never salted. I now drive something a bit higher, so I get stuck less often.

When you go for an evening stroll, can you see the stars? Country lanes don’t have street lamps. You don’t need them, it is rarely too dark to see where the hedges are, and I love to walk through the black of night, listening to the owls, watching the stars. Whenever we stay in towns and cities, the thing I notice most is the yellow nights, when street lamps colour everything. Night isn’t scary unless you’re not used to it.
So, Townie or Bumpkin? Or maybe something inbetween. I think my husband still thinks I am a Townie, though I can’t remember the last time I wore stilettos (and the whole world is thankful he no longer wears tight jeans!) I guess the important thing is to be happy wherever you live. I know I am.

 

Thank you for reading.

Why not sign up to follow my blog ?

 anneethompson.com

Christmas is coming, and books make great gifts. So much nicer than yet another scarf for Aunty Joan… So, why not buy one of my books?

  

 

xxx

Learning Points

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Hi, not had a great week. How about you? I have that sliding, not quite on top of everything, overly busy feeling – the one that always seems to descend about this time of year. It will be replaced with a complete flat panic – did anyone buy a Christmas gift for Grandma? – feeling, which will last until well into the new year. So I might as well get used to it. I never manage to fit in everything I want to do, and I will always feel like I’ve managed to achieve less than everyone else. That’s just life.

I have, however, learned lots of things this week.

For example, I learned that if you have a grumpy old cat who dislikes going outside when it’s cold or damp, and who repeatedly poops in the utility room sink, then when you throw said poop out of the door in disgust, it is extremely important to first check that no one is walking past in the lane.

I also learned that when cooking a roast gammon dinner for 39 elderly people, when a sweet lady with white hair asks you to also serve a take-out dinner for her son, if shortly afterwards another sweet old lady asks you to also serve one for her son, you have not necessarily lost your ability to distinguish between old ladies with white hair. It might be the same one, who has forgotten that she asked you ten minutes ago, but does not now want two take-out dinners!

I learned that reversing quickly into the garage and bending the wing-mirror backwards makes a horrible crunching noise. And the automatic folding back thing doesn’t work anymore.

I learned that buying wellington boots that are slightly too big doesn’t matter until you go for a walk in November, when the fields are boggy, and the mud sucks said wellies off feet.

I learned that if you set aside a day to edit your next book, and then decide to just watch one episode of Stranger Things on Netflix, before you know it, you have watched the whole of series two. And nine hours of Stranger Things does slightly ‘stranger things’ to your eyes. And if you have accidentally also eaten a whole tub of ice-cream, you also feel both a bit sick and not very proud of how you spent the day. And when your husband phones from abroad, where he’s working, and asks about your day, it’s really hard to make it sound like you’ve been productive when you haven’t actually moved off the sofa.

So, there you go, not the greatest week. But this week will be better. Have a good one.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

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Thank you for reading.

Anne E. Thompson is the author of several novels and one non-fiction book. Books make great Christmas gifts – who do you know that would like one?

 

 

 

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Facebook for the Over Fifties

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I am relatively new to Facebook, first starting to use it in 2014. Since then, I have been amazed at the potential for error. Facebook has its own, unwritten rules, which everyone under the age of forty seems to be fully aware of, and everyone older struggles to grasp. I thought I would tell you what I have learned so far, but first, here is a post I wrote soon after starting:

A Facebook Lesson

I had cycled down to visit my mother. We sat on her sofa, slurping tea, when Mum said she could not see any of my photographs on Facebook. We spent some time looking at her computer (which is actually an ipad my brother lent her) but neither of us could work out what the problem was. Then she asked me why I never send her messages on Facebook. I explained that I would much rather use email, because I don’t really know what I’m doing and I might send them to the wrong place.

“Oh!” she said, “It’s easy, I’ll show you. Look, Ruth has posted a picture of chocolate, I’ll just send her the message ‘Ha,Ha,Ha’!” She did.

Then she realised that actually, she had not sent the message to Ruth. She had sent the message to somebody’s prayer request on one of her religious sites. All the other posts were things like, “I feel for you,” or, “God bless you in this time of need,” – then there was Mary Thompson: “Ha,Ha,Ha!” We couldn’t stop laughing. It was so funny and of course, neither of us had the first idea if it was possible to ‘unsend’ a message once it was sent. We laughed for ages, but it did rather illustrate my point…

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Now, I have moved on a little from those early days. I do now use Facebook messenger. But there is much to learn along the way.

Such as: LOL does not stand for “Lots of Love.” It stands for “Laugh out Loud” and is therefore inappropriate to use as a comment when your daughter has shared bad news with you.

It is possible to change your privacy settings (which are found behind the little emblem that looks like a globe). If they are set to ‘only me’, then no one at all can see your posts/photos. So you might as well not bother, and write a diary instead.

People who send you a friendship request are not necessarily people who you once knew but seem to have forgotten. They are possibly complete strangers, collecting friends for a false identity, and should be avoided. Even people who are not your friends on Facebook can see everything you post on a public setting, so some things should be set for family or friends only. And be careful to notice if you are posting something on your timeline (which everyone can see) or in a private message. You can get into a lot of trouble if you get those in a muddle.

When your children post lots of photographs after a party/ holiday/event you didn’t attend; it is not polite to ‘like’ every single one. They find it annoying. In fact, if you weren’t at the event, they probably don’t mean for you to respond at all – and certainly writing a comment is very frowned upon. (Actually, writing comments on your children’s posts or their friends is usually the wrong thing to do. Even though you have changed Robbie’s nappies and watched him grow up; now he has a beard and a girlfriend, he does not necessarily want to be reminded of the time he spilt orange juice on your sofa. Best to just observe and keep quiet, I have found.)

Your children probably share things with their friends that we would’ve chatted about in our rooms, when our parents weren’t there. They are not necessarily things you want to see/hear, so it might be better to ask your child to change their settings so you have ‘restricted’ viewing. I find I really do not need to know everything tiny detail about my children – I like to pretend they are nice.

Humour on Facebook is a bit dangerous. It is possible to write something very funny, or slightly sarcastic, and people unexpectedly take offence. Or didn’t realise you were being ironic, and respond to your “as Doctor Who is now a woman, should we call her Nurse Who?” joke with worried comments about your attitude to women. Really, I have got this wrong so often, it’s just not worth posting. A joke gone wrong can attract a lot of hate mail. Sometimes I can’t resist, but it’s usually a disaster, and once it’s ‘out there’ there is no way to make people unsee it.

Then there are the angry Facebookers. People who are lovely, polite, calm people in real life, turn into rude protestors on social media. You mustn’t take their comments personally, and if you dislike what they say, it is possible to ‘unfollow’ them rather than lose their friendship.

As I learn more ‘rules’ I will let you know. Good luck! Oh, and do remember everyone can see what you post – someone I know (not me this time) said how disappointed she was when her niece got engaged because she preferred the old boyfriend. She didn’t realise that people other than her niece would see the comment. Oops!

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  Anne E. Thompson is the author of several books. You can follow her blog at: anneethompson.com

Look out for her books on Amazon and in bookshops – who do you know that would like one for Christmas?

JOANNA – the story of a psychopath, an easy read gritty novel, that shows the reader how a psychopath thinks, and also how her actions impact her family. Because every psychopath has a mother – and how must that feel?

 

As Life Goes On….

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Remembrance Day Poem – As Life Goes On

Now, and Then

IKEA homeware packed in boxes,
Heaps of stuff litter the hall, then squashed into the back of the car.
Last hugs, cheery goodbyes, the drive to uni.
Snippets of home, spread around the strange smelling room,
The lanky excited-scared almost man says goodbye,
And the mother remembers.
She remembers the feel of the bowling ball weight on her hip when she carried him,
The feel of his tiny hands on her cheeks when he offered snotty kisses,
The snuffle of breath as he slept against her shoulder,
She remembers the child as she looks at the man.
As she wishes him well, holds back tears until she has driven away.

Billycans and clothes stuffed in kit-bag,
A train to London packed tight, then bustle hurry find the right squad.
Last hugs, tearful goodbyes, a band plays on.
Heaving the bag, look around for friends joining too,
The lanky excited-scared almost man says goodbye,
And the mother remembers.
She remembers the feel of the bowling ball weight on her hip when she carried him,
The feel of his tiny hands on her cheeks when he offered snotty kisses,
The snuffle of breath as he slept against her shoulder,
She remembers the child as she looks at the man.
As she wishes him well, holds back tears until he has joined his unit.

The posts on Facebook show new friends and nightclubs,
Texts assure his food is fine, his studies easy.
He doesn’t discuss the drunken evenings, the sleepless nights, the fear of loneliness.
But his mother knows, she reads it in unsaid words and tired-eyed photos.
And she waits. As life goes on.

There are no letters and the News shows little,
Bold battles move to the Front, the headlines proclaim.
They do not discuss the fallen comrades, the sleepless nights, the fear of injury.
But his mother knows, she reads it in unsaid words and tired-eyed photos.
And she waits. As life goes on.

The war ends. The boy returns home.
Yet, not a boy, become a man.
A man who will not speak of horrors,
Will not discuss the stench of death,
The sight of his friends, falling.
The nights when he still hears the screams, still fears the dark.
But his mother knows, she reads it in sunken cheeks and, eyes so weary.
And she waits. As time goes on.

The term ends. The boy returns home.
Yes, still a boy, almost a man.
A boy who chats and loves to amuse,
Loves to debate the point of life,
Who meets all his friends, laughing.
The nights when they drink, talk at length, sort their beliefs.
And his mother knows, he is safe and content with life, has a future.
And she waits. As time goes on.

by Anne E. Thompson

Author Update

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Well, the business side of things is pootling along quite nicely. Gradually, more people are reading and recommending my books, and I sell on average, 10 a week. This is enough  for me to continue (which is good, because I like being an author!) I have more or less given up on big bookshops, because the economics just don’t work. Although it’s lovely to know people can buy my book in Waterstones, they will only order books through a wholesaler. I have to post books, on demand (so singly) to the wholesaler. So, the postman wants to be paid, and the wholesaler wants to take a cut, and the bookshop wants a cut. Which means, in effect, I  make a loss on the basic cost of producing the book. Smaller bookshops are different, because they’ll take a few copies on sale or return, and although they take quite a big cut, I still cover my costs.

The best way, by far, is to sell books face to face. I’m managing to do this by booking a space at local fairs and markets, and having book-signings in local bookshops. This means I meet new people, and can tell them about my books. It’s a bit scary, because books don’t sell themselves, and I have to invest time describing them to potential buyers, but mostly people are polite, so it’s okay if exhausting. I long for the day when enough people buy my books with no effort from me (other than writing them) but that is unlikely to ever happen. I have a few more events booked for the winter, and am hoping people will buy books as Christmas gifts. (Now, have a think: who do you know who would like one of my books for Christmas….?!)

I have also been invited to speak at various groups. Sometimes these result in sales, sometimes they don’t. But I think they are a good use of my time, because if nothing else it keeps me in touch with what different people are reading and thinking. One thing I have learned is that if you want to sell books, you need to be aware of your audience. People like happy endings, older people don’t like swearing (even if that is how the character would speak in real life), some readers want ‘action’ and are disappointed by literary fiction (which is all about the characters and nothing really happens) so I need the cover and blurb to explain exactly what is inside the book.

Did I tell you that I wrote a new book, about having a brain tumour? I belong to several Facebook forums, and am often moved by  people’s stories, how they feel lost after the initial diagnosis, and find it very difficult to find information. The book is specifically for people with brain tumours, though also has a chapter about family, and dying, and living with stress – so actually would be helpful for people who are terminally ill too. I tried to be very honest, and to say the things that no one likes to say, the things that, when you have been diagnosed with something serious, you want to talk about. I advertised it on Facebook, and people kindly shared the link. As I published it directly through Amazon, people can buy it in any country that has Amazon, and I’ve sold copies in various countries. I was contacted by someone, whose brother had just been told he had three weeks, possibly a month, to live. They said the book had helped. It is a huge privilege to be able to write something for people in that situation.

As we go into Christmas, I need to market my books appropriately. I have therefore invested in some tissue paper and gift bags. (You have no idea how hard it is for me to spend money on marketing! I am struggling to cover my costs, to spend money on something which would make no difference to me, as a consumer, is very difficult; but son-who-knows- marketing says that I must.) Am hoping it will show people that books make good gifts. No idea if it will make any difference or not.

The main thing that all authors must do is read. Everyone says this, from Stephen King down. I have recently read Mindhunter by John Douglas. He was an FBI operative who interviewed lots of serial killers and started the idea of criminal profiling. The book is a bit clunky to read, more a diary of what he did than anything else (and he appears to be rather proud of his own achievements) but I was interested to read about what he discovered. I was also surprised by the number of authors who base novels on his work. Thomas Harris (Silence of the Lambs) has based several characters on John Douglas and the cases he discusses. Harris’s work is barely fiction, it so closely resembles the cases and methods described by Douglas. I recognise ideas and themes later used in books by Val McDermid, Jeffrey Deaver, and others. This is a bit surprising. Do most fiction writers base their stories and characters on real people? Perhaps they do. Sometimes the characters are so close to a real person, the author has done little more than change the name.

I have also recently read the following books, and have written a mini review of each one:

#A Case of Need by Michael Crichton – very interesting. The novel is very pro-abortion, which I found difficult, but it’s usually good to read viewpoints that differ to your own, because it helps you understand what others are thinking. Whilst I found Crichton’s very biased approach slightly annoying (he didn’t address the alternative views at all, other than to ridicule the extremist stance) the story was interesting enough for me to want to read to the end.

#The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough – well, this was surprising! I sort of remember the story from the 1970’s, when my parents banned us from watching it, and my sister and I used to sneak episodes when they were out! But I have never read it. McCullough writes in a very descriptive style, and she uses all the adverbs that Stephen King advises writers to avoid, but she certainly writes a good story. I was uneasy with the ages of the main characters – a priest in his twenties becomes besotted with a girl who is a child. Anyone who has ever does any child protection courses has the word ‘grooming’ looming at the back of their mind. I enjoyed the story though, it was compelling reading.

#The Death House by Sarah Pinborough – not as compulsive as ‘Behind Her Eyes’, but still a good story. I’m not sure if it was intended as a YA book, as it read like one (but there was nothing in the blurb to indicate it was). Some unnecessary sex scenes (perhaps that’s what YAs like to read), but an interesting story idea.

 

#Love Like Blood by Mark Billingham – I always enjoy Billingham’s books, and this one didn’t disappoint. A fun holiday read.

 

 

#City of Friends by Joanna Trollope – I usually enjoy Trollope’s books, but this one felt a bit forced, as if she hasn’t written anything for a while and felt she needed to produce a book whilst not actually having anything to say.

 

I hope you have a good week. Do remember to make time to read something. (And no, if you’re a student, text books don’t count!)

Take care,
Love, Anne x

xxx

Thank you for reading.
You can follow my blog at : anneethompson.com

October Days

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  Hi, how was your week? Mine has pootled along, though I do feel like we’re hurtling towards Christmas horribly fast. Now is the time of shops revealing their Christmas displays, communities advertising their Christmas Fairs, and supermarkets suggesting we should do our Christmas orders. Hard to remember it’s still October (just) – it’s autumn, live in the moment and enjoy it.

I think perhaps older people are better at ‘living in the moment’. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy Lunch Club on Fridays. It’s a lot of work, but always a laugh. This week, one of them remarked,
“If you wake up in the morning, and nothing hurts, and nothing aches, you know you must’ve died during the night!”

October has been busy for me, and I’m tired now. I’ve had a couple of events in London (the fashion show, which I told you about, and a lunch. I was late for the lunch because I got my ‘Parks’ in a muddle when catching the tube and ended up in the wrong place!)

I’ve also had a couple of speaking engagements. Sometimes book groups or church groups invite me to do a short talk, either about my books, or how I decided to be an author. I get very nervous beforehand, but afterwards I’m always glad I accepted the invitation. The most recent one I did was at our local community cafe, for a new group that’s aimed at anyone who’s at a loose end on a Tuesday afternoon. There were a mix of attendees, some old, some young, some who came with carers. (I never know quite who to expect when I’m asked to speak, and sometimes have to radically change what I’d planned to say!) It was a nice group. I didn’t sell any books (well, only Invisible Jane, and all the profit goes to Tearfund, so that doesn’t count) but it felt like a good thing to do. I guess that’s my test of a day – if I get to the end and feel I have used the time well, I’m satisfied. Because like my old men say, you just never know if you’ll wake up or not tomorrow!

I still haven’t received Clara Oakes back from my editor, so it’s been a relaxed week writing wise. This means I ought to do some housework. I find that my eye-sight is pretty bad now, so as long as I don’t wear my glasses in the house, I can be very relaxed about housework. When I wear glasses I can see all the dust and muddles and dog hairs, and feel the need to clean. I hate cleaning.

I also hate ironing. I don’t do it very often, but my nephew had his son Christened, which involved wearing a dress, and afterwards it had to be washed and ironed. My iron is the one my brother gave me in 1988 when I got married. It works fine. I guess it hasn’t been used much.

  Yesterday I told a story to the children at church. It’s a story about a pumpkin, which I told to my own children many years ago, and I sort of remember it, so modified it for church. It makes a comparison between a pumpkin and people (in some cases this is more evident than others….). Husband gave me lots of ideas for things I could add to the talk. None were suitable.

I was really nervous. I began the story by holding up a pumpkin seed, and my hands were trembling so much that I nearly dropped it. But it was okay, I got through it, and Husband said it was good. Often things are difficult aren’t they, but it’s a good feeling when it’s accomplished. I’ve put the story on my website, if you’re interested :

Pumpkin Story

Our church is also holding a Halloween Party – which isn’t called that – for the children in the village. I have offered to make the tea and coffee for the parents while they wait, and my mum is going to help me. Husband suggested we could dress up as witches. Although  it would be hugely funny, just to see the faces of the people organising the party, as it is the complete antipathy of what they’re hoping for, I will resist the temptation. Though actually, I think we would make rather good witches…..

Have a good week.
Take care,
Anne x

Crops and Cows

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Hello and how was your week? Mine was a mix of disasters and interesting things.

It began nicely, with a walk to our local pub. Husband was working from home, but decided he could take a few hours off, so we walked for 45 minutes through the woods to our nearest pub, for lunch. It was warm, the trees had laid a path of autumn leaves, the dog was happy. All was going well until we arrived and realised we hadn’t actually brought any money with us. Embarrassing.

The sweetcorn crop next to the house was harvested. We saw them cutting it, and trailer loads of cut green stuff being carted away. But we never actually saw any of the corn cobs. We watched the tractor for ages, and decided it must be somehow removing the cobs before chipping the stalks. It was bit of a mystery.

Monday was also the day of the red sun – did you see it? If you live in England, you’ll have had a weird yellowy sky that was dusk at about 3pm, and the sun was red and hazy. Apparently it was due to sand being blown by Hurricane Oscar (which scientist son explained to me, but to be honest, I have no idea how it happened). We did wonder if it was the Apocalypse – Husband remarked that it was lucky I had never wasted time repairing his sweater, as the world was about to end anyway. A touch sarcastic, I felt.

I didn’t have time for sewing this week. Clara Oakes is ready for editing, so I sent that off, which is very exciting. The editing will take a few weeks, and then I can prepare the file for the typesetter. It’s a lot of work, but nice work. Then comes all the proofreading, which I hate doing, because it’s slow and boring, but it has to be done.

I have another book beginning to form in my mind. It’s based on a farm, and I know nothing about farming, so need to do some research. When I was at the flower arranging course a few weeks ago (remember? – I told you about it) I met someone who lives on a farm, so I asked her if I could visit. I went this week.

The farm house is exactly what you imagine a farmhouse should look like: big and double fronted and old. There were two dogs wandering around outside and lots of mud, and big barns full of machinery. I sat in the dining room, drinking tea, learning about what it’s like to live on a farm. (Are you jealous of my job? It’s brilliant!) I also went to see the new calves being fed. (I didn’t like to take photos, because I was trying to appear professional rather than touristy, so you’ll have to just imagine them.)

They have about 100 cows, all for beef. Each cow arrives with its own passport, which is a legal requirement, and goes with the cow and has to be updated whenever it’s sold or if it dies. It’s a bit like a car’s logbook. Each cow is identified by a number clipped to its ear (and if the number falls off, the farmer has to find the cow who’s missing one and replace it). They buy the cows through a sort of broker, who sources suitable calves. They told me lots about different breeds, but I couldn’t listen and make notes fast enough, so I’ve forgotten lots of it. But they tend to buy calves from Fresian cows (which are good for milk) and Aberdeen Angus bulls (which are big black cows, who have narrow shoulders, so they make the birthing process easier).

The calves arrive when they’re about a week old. They like to buy 33 from the same farm, as they will then all have the same immunity (due to the colostrum in the mother’s milk). Calves from different herds can infect each other, as they will have been exposed to different bacteria. The calves I saw were a couple of weeks old. They were in hay filled pens, and were jostling each other to get to the milk. I touched their hard black heads, and they put out long grey tongues to lick me. Cows have surprisingly long tongues.

The farmer mixes milk powder (special calf milk powder – I don’t suppose you could put it on your cereal) with hot water. Then he adds cold water, and tests the temperature. Hot milk will burn them, cold milk is harder to digest. They are just babies really, even though they are bigger than dogs and would break your toes if they stepped on them. The milk was poured into a bucket thing which the farmer had made, and it had holes with rubber teats. He hooked it onto the pen fence, and the calves sucked out the milk. Some farmers give milk in a bucket, and the calves learn to lap it up. But apparently it’s better for their digestion if their heads are at the angle they would be if feeding from their mothers, hence the device the farmer has made. They were very earnest while they ate. They’re fed twice a day.

Beef cattle might be male or female (I didn’t know that, I thought only males were used for beef). The females, or heifers, have never had calves, so their udders are tiny. The males, (called steers or bullocks) are all sterile, so they can share a field with the heifers. They are also ‘polled’ which means they don’t have horns. Some breeds just don’t grow horns, I didn’t know that either. The heifers get fatter faster, but the steers grow to a bigger size when full grown.

The cattle stays on the farm for two years, then when big enough they are sent to the abattoir. Again, there is a man who comes, assesses the size of the animals, and decides when they are big enough to go. I said I’d quite like to visit an abattoir, so I can write about the process properly. The farmer said the animals are killed quickly, so they don’t really know what’s coming, but the after death bit is grim and smelly. Whilst the animals aren’t pets, I got the impression they were cared about, the farmer did his best to ensure they didn’t suffer and were kept comfortable. They didn’t seem to want to talk about the killing part, even though it’s the point of the business. I guess you grow fond of any animal you raise, even if it’s a business.

They were really kind, explaining so much and showing me around the buildings. I saw all the feed stacked up for the winter. Cows are good at keeping warm, but the wet of our clay soil is bad for them, and they get pneumonia if left in the fields over the winter. They’ll be moved inside during November, and the farmer said I can visit again to see how the farm is different in a different season.

The farm also grows some crops – some to sell and some for animal feed. One crop is maize (sweetcorn). This is a strain for animals to eat. When it’s harvested, the whole lot – stalks, cobs, leaves – is shredded and then stored for the cows to eat during the winter, when the grass is too wet. Which explains why we didn’t see the sweetcorn cobs being separated when they cut the corn next to our house. Mystery solved!

Hope you have a good week.

Take care,
Anne x

xxx

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Anne E. Thompson has written several novels and one non-fiction book. Her books can be found in bookshops and on Amazon.