Publishing a Book – Part One

Posted by anneethompson

Hi, how was your week? I have been working hard on my book. Getting it published as been an unexpected journey, so I’ll share my experiences so far with you in case you ever decide to go the same route.

The first (and most fun part) is writing the book. I love doing this, it feels a lot like acting – I sort of ‘become’ the characters, think about how they would feel or react and daydream them into interesting situations. Most books seem to fit into the 70,000 to 100,000 words range. Which means that after I have written the story, I usually have to go back and delete great swathes of unnecessary sentences. I found the book ‘On Writing’ by Stephen King to be a big help here.

Next comes the ‘not fun’ part. You have to decide how to publish your work. I wrote my first book soon after I realised I would not be returning to teaching (long story, won’t go into it here.) I gave the completed manuscript to Husband to read, who tends to be ‘constructively critical’ of most things I do. To my surprise, he loved it, said he had never realised I could write so well, and encouraged me to send it off to publishers. I did a Google search to find publishers and discovered that most (all of them really) do not accept unsolicited manuscripts from new authors. To get to a publisher, you first need an agent.

I bought the ‘Writer’s Handbook’ and found contact details for various agents. They were all different, all asked for very specific details. Each submission took most of a morning. I then settled back and waited for them to request my full manuscript. I waited a long time. A few replied with very nice, personalised letters, telling me that my book showed real potential but wasn’t something they felt “passionate enough about” to represent me. Several replied with a standard ‘no thank you’ letter. Most never replied at all.

I have since learned that a good agent already has many authors as clients, they only take on a few new authors each year. They receive however, about 300 submissions every week. In order to cope with that, and to not spend their entire working day reading submissions, they employ people – often work experience students – who read the submission letters and decide if they think an author is worthy of being viewed by an agent. The criteria for knowing if the cover letter is ‘good enough’ is vague and subjective. I think, unless you know someone ‘in the trade’, finding an agent involves a lot of luck.

During this time, I was writing book number two, Hidden Faces. I also began to talk to other authors. They informed me that rejection was normal. I heard stories of people who had eventually been accepted by mainstream publishers, but during the editing process, their book was changed beyond recognition, it didn’t feel like theirs anymore. Publishers need to make money. Some seem to almost have a formula for the types of book they can sell, things that are currently in fashion, and they ask the authors to fit into it. I feel it is a bit like an artist painting a picture, expressing how they feel, then daring to exhibit their work, and being told, “I would like to buy your painting, but please change the sky to green and add some people and take out that tree…” Would it still be their work of art?

I was now not sure I wanted a mainstream publisher. I began to look into self-publishing. This was confusing. It seemed to fall into two categories: the rather unflattering term of “vanity press” and “self-published”. But what was the difference? It seemed that shops were willing to sell “self-published” books, but not those that used “vanity press”. But it was hard to discover the difference. Both were what I would call “self published”, as the author had themselves paid for the book to be published and they only received money if people bought it. (Generally, my understanding is that for a first book, a publisher will pay the author about £800. All profit after that goes to the publisher. However, people are shy about talking about specifics when it comes to money, so that may not be correct. When I get to the relevant parts, I will tell you what I paid for things, so you know.)

I eventually learned that “vanity press” is when an author writes a book and immediately sends it to be printed. So, no one edits it, no one checks the spelling and punctuation, no one says, “this bit is confusing, you need to change it”, no one type-sets it. You can find sad stories online of people who paid a company to publish their book and then found it had no copyright page, or Chapter One began on the left-hand side of the book. They received books that ‘felt wrong’, often cheaply bound in very thin card, with pages that were loose.

My feeling is that if you have written a book that you are proud of, that you just want to see in print, to perhaps give to your family (but not sell to strangers), then why not? I hate the term “vanity press”. Writing a book takes time and effort, why not see it published? I much prefer the terms “home press” or “amateur published”.

However, I did want to sell my book. I wanted a ‘proper’ book, one I could be proud of. I started to look online for editors, copy-editors, type-setters, printers. There were many publishers who offered a self-publishing service, and everyone seemed to have a corresponding ‘horror story’ on the internet. (If you Google search the name of the publisher and ‘scam’ it is quite scary what appears.) It was beyond me, so Husband took over (he is good at that sort of thing.) There was a lot of business stuff involved. He started by going into a bookshop and asking if they stocked any self-published books. He then looked to see who had printed them and contacted the printers. He got quotes for printing and asked for details of editors and type-setters, people they had worked with before who they could recommend. He then contacted various people, asked for examples of their work, quotes for prices, details of what they would do.

While Husband did all this research (made me remember why I love him) I rewrote a serial, Counting Stars, that had appeared on my website, making it a complete story. I now had two new books ready to publish. (I had given up on the first one and decided I needed to rewrite it.)

This account is getting long, so I will continue Part Two another time. I will explain about editors, and what exactly ‘proof-reading’ means (it is not what I thought!) and why you might need insurance…

Why not sign up to follow my blog so you don’t miss it?

Thank you for reading.

Take care,
Anne

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Hidden Faces is available in bookshops and from Amazon.

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Warsaw, Poland – A Holiday Diary

Posted by anneethompson

We checked in to hotel (Hotel Bristol), then walked up the ‘Royal Route’ towards the old town. Got something to eat at a Costa, which felt very foreign. It was also very cheap and surprisingly empty for an inner city Costa.

Warsaw has different sections. We walked through the Old Town, which is…. old. Then walked through the old city gate (the Barbican) into the New Town – which is….. old! However, actually, when you read the guidebook, you discover that ALL of Warsaw was heavily bombed during the war, so 85% has been rebuilt. But it looks old. We saw an old photo, which I hope is clear enough for you to see, (I put a copy at the end) showing how every building in the centre of the old town was a ruin with no roof. After the war they worked very hard to rebuild everything in the same style as before. They succeeded, though I am guessing that due to speed/cost, they were not perhaps built to be as durable as before (a few of the ‘marble’ columns were made of brick and plastered over.) It looks good though, a very pretty city.

It’s actually very nice. Like Krakow, it reminded me of Bruges, with cobbled streets, attractive buildings, street cafes and music – wherever you walked there were musicians busking, from opera singers to cellists. It was lovely. There were also lots of fresh flowers. Every street cafe was decorated with arrangements of flowers and we saw people on bikes, carrying flowers they had bought, in their baskets. I am guessing that Polish homes must use lots of flowers.

We ate dinner in Dolce Vita, a cafe opposite the royal palace. The food was nice, and when I went inside, it was all scrupulously clean.

The next day there were lots of Chinese people outside the president’s house, waving banners and flags. I used my Mandarin to ask a man why they were there. Had quite a long conversation. Do not have a clue what he said! Husband then asked one of the many security men what was happening and we learnt that the Chinese president was visiting. Spent the rest of the day dodging excited Chinese tourists and people filming news reports and security men who had closed off streets.

I walked to the Palace of Culture and Science in the city centre. All the roads are big, with crossing lights that everyone obeys and no cobbled streets. The buildings were more like I had expected to see in Poland – rather foreboding flat roofed concrete blocks with big blank windows that watched you.

However, they were still interspersed with pretty historical ones with sculptures and decorations. It is a relatively low rise city, so the Palace of Culture and Science looms above everything. It looks like something from a Ghost Busters set. There is something sinister about it, though I couldn’t quite work out why.

I also couldn’t quite work out what it was used for. I went inside and there were cafes and toilets and ticket kiosks. You could buy tickets to the viewing platform ( this would only appeal if you were male I feel) and to see several reconstructed rooms. I picked up a leaflet and it looked like it was something to do with the previous communist rule. But what exactly was rather vague. My guidebook was also unhelpful – it told me useful facts like that it had been made from 40 million bricks (like, when you see a building, your first thought is always, “Gosh, I wonder how many bricks they used to build that,”) and it was a gift in 1952 from the USSR. And that Polish people would now like to demolish it.

Google told me it was an exhibition centre and cinema, and apparently the Rolling Stones played there in the sixties. I think not knowing and making up my own ideas was more interesting.

Palace of Science and Culture

Walked to the Chopin Museum. On the way I passed a bench, opposite the house where his sister used to live. The bench played music, which I thought was rather cool! The museum was a pretty building, previously a palace, built above the road. There was a park, with the institute of music next door, so people were walking their dogs to the sound of piano playing. The museum was shut. I was quite pleased actually, as generally museums are boring, but I sort of feel obligated to go sometimes.
Walked back to hotel. Went into the Church of St Joseph. It was dark, with oil paintings, candles and icons. There were people praying, so I thought I had better not take photos. Though it was tempting as apparently the organ was previously played by Chopin each Sunday.

Chopin Museum

Food in Poland seems to be okay – a bit like in Germany (sausages and cabbage) but with more taste. Lots of places sell pierogi (sort of like Chinese dumplings, stuffed with sauerkraut, meat or potatoes or with fruit or cheese.) Tall ice cream cones also seem popular, and breads and pretzels and pastries. And of course vodka (spelt ‘wodka’!) We also saw lots of people buying glasses of beer, with a red drink in a wine glass which they poured into the beer. I assumed they were adding shots, but apparently it was just fruit juice. (I was told this by a waiter, not one of my sons, so it is probably true.) They also eat pickled herring. The signs for the lifts are: WINDY/ELEVATOR – I am hoping the ‘windy’ bit is a translation and not an adjective.

In the afternoon it rained. Grey and damp, like English rain, but still warm, too hot for a coat. I walked through a big park, Ogrod Saski. I walked past a giant cross and the tomb to an unknown soldier, which had a fire pit burning, flowers and two soldiers on guard. The park was nice, with statues and a fountain and paths through flower beds. However, the paths did not lead to where I wanted to go, it was like being in Ikea, walking miles when you know that where you want to be is just in front of you. Part of the problem was the tram line, which ran down the side of the park, so you couldn’t leave in the corner you wanted to. Walked a long detour, made it out eventually.

Walked up to Plac Bankowy (Bank Square). Previously, this had a statue of the founder of the Soviet security service and the square was named after him. When Poland left the Soviet Union, they got rid of the statue and returned the square to its original name.

I feel this sums up Poland. They have had their identity snatched from them so many times – when heavily bombed during WW2, when the Jews were killed, when it was joined to the Soviet Union. Each time, afterwards, they have rebuilt the things that were important to them, held on to their history. I think that to start again so completely means they are probably a very strong nation, one to admire.

In the evening, we ate again in the square opposite the royal palace. There was lots of excitement as the Chinese president was arriving. The square was full of Chinese dancers, people waving flags and security men.

The security men were easy to spot as they wore black suits with white shirts and sunglasses (even though it was evening.) Like the cast from Men in Black.

Some Chinese girls were also eating in the restaurant, so I chatted to them. They said that coming to wave flags was compulsory – they had been told they had to. It was interesting to watch how the crowd was managed. Some protestors arrived and they weren’t removed, but their banners were quickly hidden by people with giant Chinese flags who stood in front. When Xi arrived, his car came in a cavalcade of security vehicles and whisked quickly into the palace. The people who had stood for hours didn’t even see him.

Poland has been fun to visit and is very different to how I had expected it to be. It is clean, attractive and has good summer weather. Definitely a good destination for a weekend away – and much cheaper than Paris!

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Excited Chinese people

Fountain in the rain

Old photos showing the level of destruction in the war.

A crucifix, which is partly the old one,

then a modern repair post war.

Marie Curie lived in Warsaw

before moving to France.

(Clever lady.)

The city gate.

There were lots of these ice cream cones.

I was dying to try one,

but wasn’t sure if they would be made with local water.

Local beer. Very nice.

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Thank you for reading.

If you enjoyed this, why not sign up to follow my blog?

anneethompson.com

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Krakow, Poland – A Holiday Diary

Posted by anneethompson

Poland was unexpected. Why has no one ever told me what it is like? Husband had a work trip in Warsaw, so we decided to come to Krakow the weekend before, have a romantic weekend. Before I came, I had this image of post Soviet Union countries all being very similar – lots of flat roofed concrete buildings, all very ugly and sinister. I came to Poland for the experience, to see with my own eyes what I had imagined. It turns out I had imagined wrong!

First we flew to Kraków. We flew with easyJet, which I quite like actually. Check-in was quick (you did it yourself but there were people to help if you got stuck) and you didn’t pay for anything you wouldn’t use. I paid £6 on board for a cheese roll and a drink. It was a nice cheese roll.

We arrived in Kraków and got a taxi to the hotel. I was interested to watch the city through the taxi window – was more Bruges than Tower Hamlets. There was a river with floating restaurants, a castle, cobbled streets, lots of cyclists.

The following day we walked around the city. I wanted to go to see where Schindler’s factory was (as in Oskar Schindler, who saved so many Jews in the war.) We walked through the Jewish Quarter- saw lots of old buildings, houses with window boxes of flowers, synagogues, Torah schools. Before the war, a quarter of Poland’s population was Jewish.

You could then walk across the bridge, over the river – the same route that the Jews would have had to walk when they were told to leave the Jewish area, their homes, and go to live in the ghetto.

There were about 20,000 Jews squashed into a few streets. Obviously the fences had gone, but many of the streets were still named Getta and you could see the old chemist shop, which is now a museum. The square, where people were sorted – allocated into houses or trains to the camps – now has statues of giant metal chairs. Empty chairs to show the lives that were stolen. Some of the chairs were normal sized and near the tram stop. Husband sat on one. I worried this was disrespectful, but apparently the sculptures were planned like that, to show that anyone could have been taken.

Schindler’s factory, a few minutes walk away, was just a factory. Here there were lots of concrete buildings. There were photos in the factory windows of the Jews who had worked there and the inside is now a museum and an art gallery, which I didn’t fancy looking at (not very keen on museums.) I picked up a leaflet about a tour to Oswiecim (which is better known by its German name of Auschwitz.) Decided visit would be traumatic, not really the right thing for romantic weekend away with husband, better to go as a separate trip in the future.

Went to old part of Kraków. This is beautiful. Cobbled streets (glad I wasn’t wearing heels), horse and carriages, ornate churches, weddings (with the bride and groom wearing very synthetic clothes which looked almost like costumes), Prussian architecture, trams, sunshine. There were little markets full of breads and pickles and crafts. Really, it was SO like going to Bruges at Christmas time, but with sunshine!

The churches were dark, full of candles and gilt and oil paintings. I’m not sure what they were used for during the communist reign, when religion was outlawed.

There were street entertainers, ice creams, people with designer dogs. And always, just under the surface, in the back of your mind, the city’s troubled history. So much suffering. I don’t know how long it takes to forget things like that.

anneethompson.com

Thank you for reading.

You could go on a ‘Communist Tour’!

This dog waited a year for his owner (who had died.)

People-watching in one of the squares.

Wonderful markets

Cloth hall – which didn’t sell cushion covers….

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Helpful Europe train advice at: http://www.seat61.com/

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If you enjoyed this, you will love my new book: The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary.
I have always written a diary on holiday, so last Christmas, I decided to find all my old diaries and blogs, and make a book for my children. However, several other people also asked for a copy, so I have written a public version – it’s available on Amazon and has been described as “The Durrells meet Bill Bryson”!

Why not buy a copy today? I think it will make you laugh.

The US link is here:

https://www.amazon.com/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1549015525&sr=8-1&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

The India link is here:

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The UK link is here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1549014970&sr=8-2&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

Letter to a Sister – Lunch Club

Posted by anneethompson

How was your week? I cooked at Lunch Club. Usually I make a syrup sponge, but I thought I’d try something different this week, so I used tinned pears instead of syrup and added some ginger to the sponge mixture. I was a bit worried about cooking tinned pears – they might have turned to mush in the oven. It was okay. I thought it was a bit lacking in taste, tinned pears are a bit bland, but it wasn’t horrible, which is the main thing. I might try marmalade next week.

I cannot tell you how much I dislike cooking dinners for large numbers of people. However, Lunch Club is something special, and I always come home happier than when I went, even though it’s also really hard work (as you know – I believe you told me that if you ever agree to help again I should shoot you!) This week the ‘kitchen team’ were mainly men, ranging in age from about 65 to almost 80. That says it all really!

Each week we produce a healthy meal for forty people, and they pay £3:50. Some weeks we are an efficient productive team. Other weeks I feel like I have wandered on to the set of a Dad’s Army film.

I am by far the most stressed member of the team. Maybe when you have lived through a war and survived, it seems less important if the potatoes don’t cook on time. I am also the bossiest. The kitchen is inspected regularly for hygiene, so we have check lists of things to do. I am always nagging people to wash their hands ( even if they have just washed them when they used the loo, they have to wash them again when they reenter the kitchen.) They now tell me whenever I see them, “Yes Anne, I washed my hands.”

Whoever is cooking buys the food, then arrives at the church early to start preparing. Gradually the rest of the team arrive, some by bus, some via ‘Dial-a-Ride’ and some walk or drive. Everyone is pleased to see each other, so it’s quite a social time. It’s also the time when we hear about ailments. The team are mostly not young, so it’s not coughs and colds – they will quite casually mention that they “had a minor stroke in the week” or “had bit of a heart attack so had to call an ambulance.” I am always amazed how they seem to take in their stride, to carry on with life as soon as they feel well enough.

They also laugh a lot. At some point, before the ‘oldies’ arrive (who are actually no older than the team some weeks) we have a quick prayer. This is always more enthusiastic when I am the cook (need all the help we can get!) When I got there this week, one of the team had rolled up his trousers to show some injury, which led to a general discussion of scars until I called them to order and suggested that we should get on with praying. Slightly worried as to where the conversation might lead. Like I said, I am the bossy one.

This week one of the church members popped in with his little boy. The oldies love to see children. They are, I have noticed, quite competitive with how many great-grandchildren they have. I can’t really chat to them when I’m cooking (too busy trying to not burn anything.) But when I’m not the actual cook, I love listening to them, they have so many tales about growing up during the war, living in a world that has changed so much.

I love how enthusiastic they still are, how they will arrive excited that dog-racing has started in the next town, or there’s a new club they can join, or even a new knitting pattern has arrived. Their obvious enjoyment of life makes me realise that growing old doesn’t have to be scary, there are still deep friendships and loud laughter. Especially laughter. Friday lunch times are always some of the happiest, and most exhausting, hours of my week.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

PS. Going on a trip to Poland. Never been there before.

Why not sign up to follow my blog? Then you won’t miss reading about my trip!

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Thank you for reading.

anneethompson.com

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Letter to a Sister – Bruce Springsteen

Posted by anneethompson

How was your week? Mine was busy, culminating in watching Bruce Springsteen at Wembley.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I haven’t actually been to many concerts. Maybe something to do with being Minister’s kids, or perhaps we were just incredibly sheltered growing up (those two are not mutually exclusive, of course!) But whatever the reason, I seem to have missed out on a lot of the ‘basic teenage stuff’ that most people experience. My only concerts prior to meeting Husband were at Christian music festivals or Cliff Richard (no comments please…)

So, when Husband (who had a relatively ‘normal’ upbringing) suggested we go to watch Bruce Springsteen, I was somewhat fuzzy as to who that actually was. Husband made me listen to a CD. I commented it was a pity he’d had a sore throat when recording it. Husband raised eye-brows at my ignorance. We went to the concert.

Arrived at Wembley tube station and got directed to stadium. There were lots of men shouting, asking if anyone wanted to sell tickets. As we neared the stadium, there were other men shouting, asking if anyone wanted to buy a ticket. I thought it would be helpful to tell buying men about the selling men we had seen earlier – husband told me to just keep walking.

Entered stadium. Security involved removing lids from our water bottles. This seemed wrong, I wondered if the security men had been confused by their instructions – I failed to see how bottle lids could be a danger to public safety. Husband informed me it was to increase sales of the stadium’s drinks, and to just keep walking.

Found our seats. They were not perhaps the best seats. I was glad I didn’t suffer too badly from vertigo and wished I had brought my binoculars. Or a telescope. We looked down over a sea of grey heads. We weren’t the oldest people in the audience….

The concert started only slightly later than scheduled. It was plenty loud enough. Unfortunately, the person responsible for switching on the big screens forgot for the first song. We could hear it, and see indiscernible people the size of ants moving on the stage. They then switched on the screens, which was better, but we could only see Bruce, not the band. It would’ve been so much better if they had used the big screens above the stage, so those of us in the cheap seats could’ve seen the whole stage enlarged. It was hard to ‘catch the atmosphere’.

Having said that, Bruce Springsteen is undoubtedly a talented performer. He had lots of audience participation, sang for hours, involved a whole range of musicians. Most of the audience knew all his songs and sang along. The people standing on the pitch were dancing, some of them completely absorbed in the music, oblivious to the staff pushing wheelie bins around and selling food and drink. And no one suffered a coronary or stroke. The woman in front of us was taking photos of the screens on her mobile – one for each song. Each one looked identical to me. But you could see that for many, it was a special occasion, something they had looked forward to. It was rather nice.

From your sister – who is perhaps not exactly a ‘rocker’ but who quite likes being with people who are..

Take care,
Love Anne

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Thank you for reading.

If you enjoyed this, why not sign up to follow my blog?
anneethompson.com

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You can read my sister’s letter at:

http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2016/06/hiring-car-letters-to-sister.html

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Letter to a Sister – Bird Brain

Posted by anneethompson

So, a few disasters this week. I’ll gloss over them quickly. First was on Monday, at Aunt and Uncle’s Golden Wedding Anniversary. It was a lovely event, saw most of the extended family, food was beautiful, everyone seemed happy. I felt somewhat of a plonka, having taken the “Dress Code: Sixties” bit to heart. Thought I ought to make an effort. Most other people had taken the “optional” bit to heart. Felt rather silly in mini dress and false eye lashes. Especially as there were a few non-family guests present, who possibly thought I usually dressed up like an ageing drag queen.

Next disaster was Wednesday. After a couple of days of high winds, the tree outside our bathroom window had scraped roof tiles onto the ground. The tree acts as curtains – we don’t have nets at that window – but those branches needed to be trimmed before they did more damage. Husband then phoned trusted builder to come and repair hole in roof. Which he did. Early on Wednesday. When I was just about to have shower in now uncurtained bathroom. That would have been good information to know in advance…..

Lets move on to some animal updates:

Before we went away, the sitting duck hatched her eggs. Ducks are generally terrible mothers – they have a tendency to sit somewhere the ducklings can’t reach them, or squash them by mistake. She had nested in a big plastic crate (nicely rat proof) so I lifted out the eleven hatchlings and put them with the mother into the dog cage in a corner of the aviary. She was furious with me, but I did manage one photo:

They were sharing the aviary with the earlier two ducklings. The mother hissed at them whenever they went near, so I had to keep them separate. This wasn’t difficult, as really all they wanted to do was be with the chicks that they’d been raised with. They wandered up and down the edge of the aviary, cheeping at them. It was hard not to put them back together, but I know it would cause big problems later.

The big chickens (nasty, nasty, creatures) kept attacking the new chicks. They will be so much safer if they manage to form a unified flock, so I don’t want to move them out. Instead, I positioned lots of crates so they had areas they could escape to when attacked, and hoped for the best.

When we returned from Sri Lanka, I couldn’t believe how big they all were. They were, unexpectedly, all still alive (the house sitter did very well.) The chicks are now small chickens. They have still not exactly ‘bonded’ with the existing flock, but at least they’re not being attacked. They’re also copying them, sitting on the crates at night as an attempt to roost.

The big ducklings look full grown. As soon as their wings feathers have grown, I’ll clip them and put them on the pond. You only clip one wing – it’s like having your nails cut, it doesn’t hurt. But they won’t fly if they’re lopsided, so I can shut them onto the pond at night and they can’t sleep on the bank and be eaten.

The eleven ducklings are also much bigger. Am pretty sure the mother stole one of those eggs – there’s one completely black duckling, very beautiful.

Looking after the birds helps me forget about publishing – publishing a book is a LOT of hassle – nowhere near as much fun as writing them. I was hoping that Hidden Faces would be in the bookshops in July, ready for the summer holiday readers. That looks unlikely now, more likely September. Which might mean fewer sales, or might mean people will enjoy it and then buy it for someone else for Christmas. Hard to know. I am trying to be patient, to remind myself that God helped me write this book, if he wants people to read it then editors, typesetters and printers won’t ruin the time plan. But at times I want to scream!

Take care,

love, Anne

Saving Time…. A Letter to a Sister

Posted by anneethompson

Do you ever wish you could bottle time? Take a memory and seal it up, ready to get out and savour again whenever you needed to?

I remember wishing that I could, when the children were small. I would watch R concentrating on painting or cooking or a story, know that she was completely, one hundred percent happy, and I would wish I could store it up for her. To save those secure, carefree toddler days for when she was an anxious teenager or a stressed out adult or whatever. I have never asked her if she ever wished I could have, never asked if she needed one of those memory bursts. I just know that sometimes I would have liked one myself.

So sometimes I catch myself trying to absorb moments. I see something or experience something special and I want to bottle it, capture it for later. Trips abroad often provide those moments. Perhaps because I have time and space to notice them. Sri Lanka certainly provided a few – you might have detected a little enthusiasm when I described seeing the elephants in my last blog! But there were many others, some of them just lasted a second. Like smiling at a young child, sharing the international language of parenthood with a stranger. Or watching a pelican, clumsy and awkward as a clockwork toy.

I would even save some sad memories. Feeling the rain as I stood next to Dad’s grave, surrounded by the family’s shared grief. It was real. In a world so full of artificial, of pretence, real is important. There is life. There is death. There is God. There is a lot of weird and wonderful in between….

There was one moment in Sri Lanka, on the way to the airport. We slowed for traffic lights and the scene was so foreign, so alive. It told a thousand stories and I wanted to be able to paint it or photograph it, though neither would do it justice.

Try to imagine it for a minute. It only lasted a minute, sixty seconds. The traffic is slow and our car creeps forwards. There are people crossing: a man carrying coloured crates, someone with three sacks stacked on his shoulder. Women elegant in saris, boys sauntering in jeans, a man with no legs wheeling his chair up the road against the tide of traffic. There are beggars waiting for the red light so they can stand, silent, beseeching with empty eyes next to car windows. Small shops with tired workers, rubbish blown against the walls, bright signs with curly symbols I can’t read. And the traffic – lots of buses, patterned paintwork, inside the seats had crocheted covers under protective plastic, bright, hot, uncomfortable, with arms and faces leaning out open windows. Aggressive drivers, loud horns, pushing through the traffic scattering pedestrians and tuktuks. And tuktuks, multicoloured, personalised with cushions, flowers, pictures, beads, whole shrines stuffed in the front. Some ferrying tourists, others carrying families. Can you see it? All that life. Impossible to capture, yet very real. It all mattered to someone.

Sometimes life whizzes on.

I hope you have some wonderful moments this week, something you wish you could bottle. Even if only for a minute. Try to notice if you do.

Take care,
Love, Anne

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Elephants at last….

Posted by anneethompson

“Move out the way!” shouted the man as the elephants approached the river.

I thought this was bit of an over reaction, there was plenty of room for him to pass, but I did move slightly more to the side.

Then I realised more elephants were coming behind him. And more….

Great lumbering beasts, so big, so intent on getting to the river. A bit like a crowd of nine year old boys rushing to play, very likely to knock someone with their shoulder by mistake. But these shoulders were huge, I would be toppled and crushed within seconds. I moved further back, up some steps leading to a cafe. The elephants lumbered by.

I cannot explain how exciting it was. The thrill of a brass band that vibrates deep inside your being, the thrall of something wonderful and scary all at the same time. Best sight ever. They trooped down to the river and then behaved a lot like my family would. One stood away from the others and just enjoyed being in the river. One submerged completely and just lifted a foot from time to time. One squirted himself and anyone near. One was very task focussed and had a good wash. One tried to organise all the others. I won’t name them…

We saw them at the Pinnawela Elephant Orphanage. I was slightly worried about how ethical it was – there were some chains and men with sharp sticks and quite a lot of shouting. But bull elephants are randy in the spring and need to be controlled, and I don’t know anything about rearing elephants (clipping a duck’s wings probably looks cruel to someone who doesn’t understand) so I will reserve judgement. Certainly they looked happy as they went to the river. And there were lots of warning signs – they hadn’t been tamed, they were still wild animals (which I like.)

We saw babies being bottle fed and adults stripping leaves from trees. But nothing compared to the bath in the river.

We hired a car and driver from the hotel. The whole day was good – a chance to see more of Sri Lanka. We saw birds as vibrant blue as a slush puppy, paddy fields being planted with rice, pineapples growing on a bush, a woman leading three porcupines on a lead and stood in rain drops that felt like whole cups of warm water being thrown at us. But really, I just wanted to tell you about the elephants.

I like Sri Lanka. It has an unspoiltness about it. It is the only place I have been that doesn’t have a MacDonald’s and Costa Coffee as every second shop – perhaps because it’s only a few years since the civil war ended, so tourism is just beginning to develop here. If you are planning to visit, come soon, before it changes.

Take care,
Love, Anne

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More days in Sri Lanka

Posted by anneethompson

Thursday and Friday

Husband went into office, I worked in hotel room, putting through the changes my editor had suggested for my book, Hidden Faces. When I needed a break, I stood on the balcony and absorbed the sea and palm trees. Not bad at all.

Went for a fast walk along sea front. Lots of families, groups of boys in white tunics walking home from their Madras, street vendors, stray dogs sleeping in the sunshine. There’s a big Buddhist festival over the next three days and they’re decorating the streets with giant lotus flowers and lights and flags.

The weather goes from bright sunshine to complete deluge in a flash, you can watch the storms coming in across the sea. There are signs up warning people not to swim because of dangerous currents and poisonous fish. Booked trip to see elephants tomorrow.

Saturday

We were both ill. Food poisoning. Ghastly. Cancelled trip to see elephants. But at least we both had it at the same time, so only lost one day of holiday. Annoying because I have been very careful, drinking only bottled water and eating only hot cooked foods. Makes you thankful for toilets.

Sunday

Walked past the green and the harbour to fort region. Area more official, lots of armed gates, groups of military. Saw the old customs house, onion shaped roofs, faded Victorian mansions. It is similar to Mumbai, but less intense – fewer smells and colour, less noise, less people.

If we stood still, even for a second, a man would emerge from nowhere, always wearing an open necked shirt, and asked where we were from and would we like a tuktuk, a tour or a cup of tea.

We passed several booths decorated with lanterns and sculptures – I think for the festival, it looked like it might be a competition. Saw a tiny old lady sweeping. Husband raised his thumb at her, told her the booth was “very good.” She smiled at him, no teeth, scant hair, ragged clothes, but a beautiful smile. Her whole face lit up. Precious moment.

Looked round the old Dutch hospital – now a complex of gift shops and cafes. The shops were closed for the festival, so I couldn’t buy a cushion cover. And I could see them through the door. So close…..

Got a tuktuk back to the hotel. Agreed price beforehand (very important) but when we arrived, he said he had no change and gleefully showed us his empty wallet. Husband said it wasn’t a problem and he could wait while husband went into the hotel and got some change.

Had a drink in the bar, under ceiling fans. Watched crows stealing food from the buffet. Listened to them screech while the sea bashed against the beach and the wind stirred the palm trees. Worth coming.

Got a tuktuk to Pettah region. Here they have a station and streets of market stalls. A rabbit warren. It was one of those experiences that feels scary but actually, as long as you kept your wits about you, it was just interesting. The people wanted to sell us stuff (at inflated prices) not murder us.

Hunted for a cushion cover. Not easy with no local language. Tried miming and got shown lots of bedding and pyjamas. In the end I bought some fabric, very ethnic, will make cushion cover when I get home. Then we went to a leather goods stall – lots of shoes and bags and poofs. Husband rather keen on a poof made from buffalo skin with elephant design. Assured me it would make a good (if rather large) cushion. He bargained with the seller and bought it. Lots of smiles all round.

Seller than offered to sell husband “a better tee-shirt”, which I thought was hilarious but husband found less amusing. Walked back to hotel along sea front. Loads of people again, all very happy. We are the only white people. I like it here.

Tomorrow we hope to go and see elephants…..

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There might be elephants tomorrow……

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Sri Lanka – Letter to a Sister

Posted by anneethompson

I met Husband at the airport (he took back all the Sri Lankan money he had given me!) Flight and everything was fine, though much too long – 10 hours. Whenever I use a washroom on a plane, I always remember my first flight, aged eight, when you told me that if I didn’t lower the lid before flushing, I would be sucked out of the aeroplane.

As we flew into Sri Lanka, we could see the extent of the recent floods. In some places they have had nearly 35cm of rain in a day. We saw destroyed roads, flooded houses, rivers that had burst their banks. Several people have been killed.

Immigration was efficient, then we collected our luggage and walked out through the Duty Free shop. In England (and every other country I have visited) this shop is full of chocolate and alcohol and cigarettes. In Sri Lanka, it’s full of washing machines. And fridges. Obviously holidays abroad stimulate the local population into a frenzy of kitchen appliances desire.

As we drove to the hotel, we saw streets of shops selling spare parts for tuk tuks, cars with whole shrines on their dashboards, lots of flooding. We passed Hindu temples, golden Buddhas on roundabouts, giant statues of Mary. There were people hanging clothes to dry on wire fences, trees, anywhere they could really. Many of the houses were very simple, made of corrugated iron and bits of wood. Some had cows in their tiny garden area.

Hotel is lovely. Galle Face Hotel, Colombo. It’s an old colonial building, full of dark wood, carved elephants and ceiling fans. Our room has a balcony, right next to the Indian Ocean (you would love it.) I feel a little like I have walked into a film set. At 5pm every day they play the bagpipes and lower the flag (a tradition from the 1800s when the British were ruling here.)

This evening we walked along the sea front – a bombardment of the senses. Crashing waves and a babble of languages mingle with fried seafood and spun sugar. Children playing, kites flying, an ancient snake charmer, joined by his friend with a monkey, as the sun dipped behind the brick built pier, silhouetting groups of men and families.

I’ve never seen a snake charmer before. He took the lid off his basket and played his pipe and a snake – think it was a cobra – rose up. Then the snake got bored and started to slide towards us, so we left – he was bit of a naughty snake!

We ate dinner in the hotel buffet. Very nice, though the Sri Lankan idea of ‘very mild’ for a curry is somewhat different to mine! We watched a man frying hoppers – they’re bowl shaped pancakes, made with flour, egg, coconut milk and yeast. Delicious. You fill them with something savoury and roll them up to eat with your right hand (using your left hand – the toilet hand – is a bad mistake to make.)

While we are here, I really want to see some elephants. There is an elephant orphanage, which is where the government care for elephants that have been abandoned. It’s more of a reservation than a park/zoo I think, so am hoping it’s well run (and has happy elephants.) I’ll let you know if I do.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

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Anne E Thompson

Author

blog

Publishing a Book – Part One

Warsaw, Poland – A Holiday Diary

Krakow, Poland – A Holiday Diary

Letter to a Sister – Lunch Club

Letter to a Sister – Bruce Springsteen

Letter to a Sister – Bird Brain

Saving Time…. A Letter to a Sister

Elephants at last….

More days in Sri Lanka

Sri Lanka – Letter to a Sister

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