Authors Electric

I worked out this month that I am not the only writer in my family, we all spend at least part of our days siting at our laptops typing away. I blog, write flash fiction and am trying to craft my memoir. My oldest son actually makes a living from writing as a sports journalist, something I find quite incredible as he never really enjoyed English at school. I must admit his grammar is probably better than mine, but at the drop of a hat he can throw in an odd cliche without sounding derivative. Youngest son is a software engineer otherwise known as a computer programmer. He has recently started his first graduate job and has been writing, much of it in another language, computer code. It’s still writing with rules for each line and a correct order of syntax for the code to be read by a machine but that’s as far as my knowledge extends – although I did read both his dissertations, I found his brother’s articles about tennis much more interesting. As I said he has just started his ...

   It’s an odd thing that we change so much as we grow older. Odd, but exciting. It’s not just our bodies and faces that change, it’s our opinions, too, isn’t it? And our habits, long ingrained, that give way to new ones. Even if you never move house, if you stay in the place where you were born for the whole of your life, you change. Life is movement. Families alter, like the patterns in a kaleidoscope. Our children leave home, make their own families, change the pattern, yet we stay bound together, the colours repeating themselves in different ways. Years ago when my boys were young, I drove myself mad at Christmas, crossing every t,   dotting every i, ticking every box, following like a brainless sheep – baaaa! - every idea thrown at me from tv or magazines, to create the perfect day. c. telegraph.co.uk There had to be masses of presents, mostly useless but good for a giggle.  There had to be a full English breakfast, a three ...