Authors Electric

  My Dad used to say to me that if I was in a room on my own, I would argue with my finger-ends. He said, "If somebody says 'Up,' you say, 'Down. If somebody says 'Straight', you say, 'Crooked'. You can't help yourself."  Later, my partner would get quite exasperated at finding himself suddenly having to defend an opinion he'd assumed I shared-- and which I often did. But no matter. He'd rashly put the opinion into words -- 'Singer Sargent was a great artist' -- 'The M6 is a busy motorway' -- 'The Sun comes up in the morning.' I would immediately contest it. "Why have you always got to argue about everything?" I have to admit that I have often listened to people making a point that I absolutely agree with-- or did, up until then-- while in the back of my head, forming an argument against it. I then often argue myself round to my original viewpoint, although not always. But I think I know when and why th...

Sunday lunch — someone I know (in real as well as virtual form) posted a photo of her daughter under this heading (or hashtag) a few weeks back. Reminded me of when our daughter was that age and stage: long hair, beautiful smile… and preteen angst in spades! Yesterday, someone I (hardly and virtually) know, responded to my describing my novels as “contemporary”, and then proposing that maybe, since today’s kids (such as that daughter above, at Sunday lunch) are taught the 1980s and 1990s as “history”, I maybe qualify as writing “historical” fiction. This fellow writer even indicated that I would need to do plenty of research! Time flies (and as my great aunt, born in 1876, used to say with a smile, you can’t, they fly too fast! in true Victorian and Edwardian humour style). Sunday lunch — for an example of 1980s living: first, off to the (organic) butcher’s to buy the joint on Saturday. Then on Sunday morning, prepare the veg and the batter, put joint into hot oven, disappear t...