Almack's Assembly Rooms by Victoria Chatham

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Fans of Regency romances will all be familiar with that most famous London location, Almack’s Assembly Rooms where ladies could see and be seen, and where mothers launched their marriageable daughters into society.

Originally built in the Palladian style, the Rooms were opened by William Macall in King Street, London in February 1765. It is reputed that being Scottish, Macall thought the English might consider his name too foreign sounding, so reversed it to become Almack’s.

It was one of the first establishments where both sexes could meet openly and became the place to be for upper class society during the season, that period in London from April to August each year. The most exclusive events were held at the town mansions of the leading members of the aristocracy, especially of those engaged in politics. The season closed at the end of July, when families returned to their country seats not only to escape the city smells and possible health issues, but also in readiness for the grouse shooting which began on August 12^th.

Money alone could not get you a voucher to Almack’s, but good breeding and manners did. Vouchers were ten guineas and were non-transferable. To not have an Almack’s voucher meant either that you had not applied for one, or you had applied and been found wanting in one way or another, a social disaster to those dedicated to the ton  - pronounced tone  from the French word for taste, or more accurately le bon ton.

Seven of the most influential ladies of upper society presided over Almack’s and included Lady Sarah (Sally) Jersey, Lady Emily Cowper, Countess Esterhazy, the Honorary Mrs. Drummond Burrell, Viscountess Castlereagh and Countess Maria Sefton. They were known as the Lady Patronesses and met every Monday evening to review new applications and the actions of the current membership. Membership could be cancelled, as in the case of Lady Caroline Lamb after her scandalous affair with the poet Lord Byron. Inappropriate dress could also have you turned away from Almack’s doors, as the Duke of Wellington found to his cost when he arrived wearing trousers and not the formal knee breeches required.

There were rooms for gambling and card games and a very plain supper was served in the upper rooms by the Macall’s at 11.00 pm. So they could not be accused of trying to compete with expensive private balls, the supper consisted of thinly sliced, probably day old bread and fresh butter followed by dry cake which would be similar to today’s pound cake. Presumably to avoid drunkenness only tea and lemonade were served.

Almack’s popularity began to decline after 1824, when manners became less strict. The last ball was held in 1863 and it closed its doors in 1871 when it was sold. The new owner renamed it Willis’s Rooms after himself. The building was damaged during bombing in 1940 and completely destroyed in 1944. Today an office building known as Almack House occupies the site and bears a brass plaque commemorating the original Rooms.   

Sources:  Wikipedia, Regency Manor, Candice Hearn Romance Author and Jane Austen’s World.  

More from Victoria Chatham at:

http://bookswelove.net/authors/chatham-victoria/

www.victoriachatham.webs.com
www.amazon.com/author/victoriachatham
www.facebook.com/AuthorVictoriaChatham

Born in Clifton, Bristol, England, an area rife with the elegance of Regency architecture, Victoria has always enjoyed everything to do with the Regency era. Her favorite Georgette Heyer title is Frederica, but she also enjoys titles by Jo Beverley, Julia Quinn and Mary Balogh.

Being an army brat meant being constantly on the move so books became her best friends. Now resident in Canada, she frequently returns to the UK to visit family and friends.

What A Whole Load Of Nonsense

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What A Whole Load Of Nonsense

In all of the writing groups I have involved with, there were always certain questions posed. The most common being, "Excuse me where are the washrooms?" Or if you are from south of the border, the restrooms. Then there's the good old Brit who'd ask for the bog or the loo.

Yeah, the bog I get, but the loo? The English have different names for everything, but considering they've been around six or seven years longer than the entire North American Continent has been discovered and they've got the Queen on their side, which overrules everyone.

But I digress, otherwise my title does begin to make total sense. A very common question is, "how do I pull my readers in, lock them up and throw away the key." Well the last bit I just made up. So if I said the following;

From atop the plateau overlooking Machu Picchu the couple gazed. The old stone buildings glinting in the sunlight. Air so rarified it was hard to breathe. Overhead eagles cried out. Julia-Rae licked the salty sweat from her lips, as his calloused hand brushed along her arm, sending a shiver through her. She inhaled, smelling that pungent, masculine aroma oozing out of his pores.

Did that pull you in? If not, stop reading and beat it, I'm wasting your time and mine. But, if yes, then what did I do to engage the reader? ..... waiting!

Some are probably now thinking, is this guy crazy? Yup. Does he drive his wife and his publisher crazy? Yup, and double yup. Does he make much or any sense at all?

Bang. You've got it. Senses. I used all of them in that paragraph; sight, taste, touch, smell and hearing to engage the reader. If you can make the reader experience all of those in a scene, you've got them involved. And if this doesn't work for you, try gardening; then it's just you, dirt and weeds. Doesn't get more basic than that.

Or you could use my next favorite tactic to engage the reader, grab your book and whack them on the forehead with its spine. They'll either be engaged or unconscious and when they come to, you will definitely have their (and most likely their lawyers as well), attention.

Oh, before I finish and just in case you're wondering, Loo? Where the hell did that come from? Some say it came from the shortened term - Waterloo- the English bathroom company that manufactured toilets and urinals. Or, I really like this one, and no, I didn't make this up. In the late eighteen hundreds the Earl of Lichfield loved to entertain people, only he had a most miserable wife, "Lady Louisa." After meeting her, many guests replied with, "nice chap but she's anything but a lady." Back then, the posh people would put the visitor's name on their bedroom doors. Two rather inebriated gentlemen decided to switch her name plate with the bathrooms. Later guests laughingly told everyone of "going to visit Lady Louisa" or today "going to the loo."

Was it serendipity or a higher power? By Sandy Semerad

As I reflect on certain events in my life, I can't help but wonder. Did these things occur by chance or was a higher power at work?

Tell me what you think after you've read this:

 Years ago, I worked as a reporter for the Marietta Daily Journal. The phone rang in the newsroom, and I grabbed it.

“Where can I turn to for help?” a woman asked. “It’s almost Christmas and my children still believe in Santa. We’re running out of money for shelter and food. I’ve called the United Way and all the churches. No one will help us,” she said.

I listened to her plea. Her husband and two young children had driven across country to relocate for her husband’s job, she said. He’d been offered a better position, as a trucker for a local transport company.

On the long drive to Atlanta, their car broke down. They spent most of their savings on repairs, she said.

When they arrived in the city, they found a motel they could afford. The room was grimy and scary, but she told herself, it was only temporary. Once her husband started his job, they'd be able to afford a better, more permanent home.

Her husband, being protective, didn’t want to leave his family alone and unsafe. So he took them along with him in his truck. When the company found out, he was fired.

“We have never asked for a handout before,” she said. “I used to criticize people who begged for handouts. Now I know I was wrong to judge.”

Her story touched me. It rang true.

I wrote a feature article about her family’s dilemma. The story ran, with their photo, in the next issue.

The following day, I was in my kitchen, and the phone rang. I started to let the machine get it, but something told me to answer the call.

“Are you the lady who wrote the article about that poor family?” a man asked, and then described in detail what he'd read.

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you think these people are dependable?” He asked.

“Yes.”

 “I have an apartment, and I’m thinking of letting them live in it for free until they can get on their feet,” he said.

“That would be great,” I said.

A year passed. I was working as an editor for American Health Consultants in Atlanta. Christmas was approaching.

The phone rang in my office. I answered it.

It was the desperate woman, who had called me a year ago. She said she got my new work number from the Marietta Daily Journal. “I had to call and thank you and let you know, we’re going to have a wonderful Christmas this year.”

Her words touched me to tears, but it was years later when I began to wonder. Why was I in that exact spot when the phone rang in the newsroom? Why did I decide to write the story? And why did I answer the phone when that generous man, with the apartment, called?

I don’t know.

There have been many other examples I could share. I’ve included at least one of those instances in A MESSAGE IN THE ROSES, a novel based on a murder trial I covered in Atlanta. The book is primarily fiction, but as a professor once told me, “Fiction is the lie that tells the truth.”

Truth is a relative term, I know. We strive for truth, but don’t always achieve it. As to the truth about what causes certain events to occur, I’m still wondering. Do these things happen by chance—serendipity--or is a higher power at work?

What do you think? 

To find out more, visit my website: http://www.sandysemerad.com/ 

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Life and Lingerie by Ginger Simpson

http://www.bookswelove.net/authors/simpson-ginger/

Lingerie has certainly changed over the years.  Now, the more skimpy the better, but I can't fathom wearing a thong at my age, or ever.  I'm bad about even flossing my teeth.

  Back in the old west women were modest, but now things have really turned to the opposite side.  You just aren't hip if you panties and bra don't match, and of course that old adage, never go out without having on clean panties, is still a rule of thumb.  You never know when you might be in an accident...or fall as I recently did.  I'm changing several times a day, just in case.

While I'm sitting here picturing women of the old west in their bloomers, camisoles and sometimes even a corset, another story comes to mind.  I've shared this one before on my own blog, but it certainly bears repeating.  Watch how you say things to your friends.  :)

Don't the women in the picture to the right look comfy?  Well, remember  the ladies often wore bustles and hoop skirts.  Yuk.  I can't imagine wearing those these days since I trip on air.  You know, they didn't have hip replacements back then.  I'd be in big trouble.  I don't walk well with a cane let alone an aid fashioned from a tree branch.

But on with the post and the reason I choose this topic:

forums.mtbr.com

My friend , Rita,shared a joke today about sayings...
things you wish you could take back.

I was reminded  NOT of something I'd said, but
 something that was said TO me.
 I can laugh about it now, but at the time,
it wasn't all that funny. :)

I'd worked with a woman for years,
discussing her recent shopping trip and
 all the year-end bargains she'd found.
While discussing her purchases, the topic turned
 to the panties she bought.
Her dialog went something like this:

"I bought the same panties I've been
 getting for years. Same size as always,
 and I got them home, took a shower and
 put on a pair. I was shocked, absolutely shocked.
 I checked the label twice to make sure
 they were my size, but although the tag said they were, they hung on me. They were huge.
 The legs gapped, the seat sagged, and the waistband was evidently made to fit
 someone obese. I should have held them up before I bought them. I certainly would
 have noticed something wrong, because I don't think I've ever seen anything soooo big in my life."

Without blinking an eye, she turned to me.

 "Do you think you could wear them?"

Although I was taken aback by her comment, I came up with a pretty smart answer.

 "Well, if I can't, I can probably cover my car with them."

The sad ending to the story: They fit!!!  Note to readers:  They weren't
the size of those shown in the picture, just described in that fashion.

Perception: A Formidable Writing Weapon by Stuart R. West

Perception’s a funny thing. It fascinates me when people are confronted with the same visual, audio or mental stimuli and interpret it differently.

Recently, I had dinner with my brother and his daughters. We had a heated discussion about the approximate size of Mickey Mouse. Yes, we both need to get out more.

He insisted Mickey Mouse is the size of a real mouse. Defiantly, I stood my ground and patiently explained that Mickey Mouse is about five feet tall.

Let's weigh the evidence. Mickey has a dog named Pluto. Mickey's larger than Pluto, keeps him on a leash and appears to be a relatively good dog-owner. At least he doesn't dress Pluto in Halloween costumes. Plus, I believe I've seen Mickey drive a car in cartoons.

My brother's defense? He said Mickey Mouse on Ice is not indicative of the character’s size. He stared at me disbelievingly and said, "Those guys on skates aren't real. You KNOW that, don't you?" He said this in the solemn way one tells a child Santa’s not real, a dark and sad secret unveiled.

(I didn’t even bring up the paradox of Goofy. He's a dog as well. I think. Yet, he walks upright, speaks (unlike Pluto) and appears to be a well-adjusted--yet, slightly stupid--individual.)

This argument has thrown everything I thought I knew into a tizzy. I lay awake at night, pondering the size of Mickey Mouse. Surely, a sentient mouse who walks a dog is human size. Yet...in the back of my mind, I find myself questioning it. 

Perception. A peculiar concept, particularly on how it forms people’s personalities. Was my brother wrong? Depends on which side of the argument you land on, I suppose. But how can anyone’s perception be declared definitively wrong when, to them, they’re right? You can't change people's perceptions, particularly when they involve anything regarding religion, politics or Game of Thrones, I've discovered.

One of the last standing monuments in Picher, Oklahoma, the basis for my book, Ghosts of Gannaway.

As a writer, I like using perception to form characters. In my new suspense thriller, Ghosts of Gannaway, the mining magnate villain, Kyle Gannaway, perceives himself as a hero of sorts, the savior of the little town he founded. Which is true in a way. But Kyle justifies his actions which include murder, perceives it as a means to an end, for the greater good of everyone. Is he wrong? Well, yes. But not in his mind. Perception can be a writer’s secret weapon, something to bring what might be a clichéd character to vivid life.

Dennis Lipstein is the hero in the 1969 portion of the novel (yep, there’re two different timelines), an environmental scientist tasked with studying the now ravaged wastelands of Gannaway, Kansas. Even though Dennis is confronted with empirical evidence of ghosts and a haunting, he refuses to believe, chalking it all up to science. A matter of perception, a writer’s source of conflict. 

In 1935, Tommy Donnelly, hero extraordinaire, has his perception muddied by rose-colored glasses. He’ll do anything to help his men in the mines, naively refusing to believe that anyone could possibly be evil. Noble to a fault, it’s a hard lesson Tommy learns. Because of his misperception.

Finally, there’s Claire, Tommy’s wife, a truly ferocious force of nature who’ll do anything to protect her family. She makes some bad decisions to attain her goal. Which have consequences. Is she wrong in her perception that nothing matters beyond her family? Absolutely not, not to her.

Comedies (particularly romantic ones) are built upon a series of misperceptions. Suspense thrillers rely on misperception as well, sometimes to have humanly flawed characters make very bad (and dangerous) mistakes. Perception’s a great way to unbind characters trapped with one foot into cliché-land, a writer’s secret weapon.

But I’m still pondering the size of Mickey Mouse.

Ghosts of Gannaway can be purchased now for the limited sales price of .99!

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 Stuart R. West's BWL author page.

Stuart R. West's Blog: Twisted Tales From Tornado Alley

Poetry Reading at Stephan G Stephansson House by Nancy M Bell

Nancy reading from her work and the work of Stephan G Stephansson.

Sunday July 12, 2015 I had the privilege of attending a poetry reading at the Stephan G Stephansson House north of Markerville, Alberta. Stephan G was an Icelandic settler who lived and homesteaded in the area. He was a prolific poet with hundreds of verses to his credit. Incredibly, he wrote most of his poems at night after the work of the day was done. The house is lovingly restored to the way it was in 1926. Stephan's writing desk still stands in the lovely front room with the bow window. The inkwell and pen still waiting for his hand.

The reading took place outside on the long front lawn with the herd of cows lazing under the spruce trees in the field beside us. The MC commented that since they hooked up the audio system for the readings last year that the weather had co-operated and not blown up a storm. She felt that Stephan wanted to hear the poetry and without the amplification in the earlier years he had called up the storm to chase them inside where he could hear. It is true that you can feel his presence, especially in the room with the writing desk. Poets were invited to read from their own work and to share some of their favorite Stephansson poems. Poets included: Margrit DeGraff, Melle Huizinga, Alvin Boragar, Nancy Bell- that's me!, Rebekah Branson and two other local poets who dropped in. Brian came up from the Markerville museum to share his poetry. Kate McIver treated us to some beautiful harp music and the Branson Family regaled us with some inspiring songs. I am so happy the organizers reached out and invited me to join this event. It was a lovely way to spend a July Sunday afternoon. The lovely ladies of the house gifted me with a hand bound personalized journal which they made themselves using Stephan G's bindery tools.

The poets standing in front of Stephansson House July 2015

Some lovely photos of the house.

Beautiful writing set

The room as you enter by the front door.

The wind up record player still makes beautiful music.

The front room where Stephan G wrote.



To learn more about Stephan G Stephansson and Stephansson House please click here.

To learn more about the man himself, please click here.

If you'd like to read some of my poetry, you can find Through This Door by clicking on the title.

The poems I read on Sunday were:

By Stephan G Stephansson

Evening written in 1899

The Prophet's Son written in 1914

At Close of Day written in 1883

Toast to Alberta written in 1893

From Through This Door by Nancy M Bell

Never Linger

Summer Evenings

Maybe When

Twenty-Six

The Last Breath

Until next month, enjoy your summer and stay safe!

Casting Your Characters - Cancer - Janet Lane Walters

This is a sign I am rather familiar with since I have a birthday today. I'm also blessed or cursed with 6 planets in Sun, Moon, Mercury, Mars, Venus and Pluto (only a planet astrologically) I also have a series featuring Cancer heroines - Moon Child. At this point there are three completed and I'm working on the fourth one.

1. 

The character with a Cancer sun is usually quiet and reserved yet they do like the spotlight. They are versatile, and changeable. They set their own course in life and have no desire to change what they want to do. They have a fertile imagination and dramatic ability. Tears can flow with ease though they hate to show this weakness to others. They love strange experiences and enjoy the occult. They may be psychic and have a retentive memory. They fear ridicule and love kindness. If someone badly hurts them, they will remember and they will erode this person rather than blast.

With a Rising sign in Cancer, the character will be changeable about life and their occupations, enjoying more than one but usually one at a time. They have a tenacious memory. They are industrious and frugal. Fear of ridicule makes them discreet and conventional. Their emotions are strong. They are receptive to new ideas. They have a knack for adapting to their environment.

Moon in Cancer. The emotional nature. There is a desire to work along the line of least resistance. They are sociable and domestic, sometimes talkative. Their emotions are influenced by the environment. They can be imposed upon and may resent this but never complain. They enjoy travel and home. They are fond of the occult and antiques. They desire to live near water. They may be either consciously or unconsciously psychic.

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To Submit Or Not - getting Over the fear of Rejection by Roseanne Dowell

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Strange, realistic visions and dreams invade Rebecca Brennan’s mind. When she experiences someone’s pain, she’s determined to find out who shares her mind. Her search leads to a small town filled with Victorian homes and interesting people and puts her life in danger.

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I could barely open my eyes. Was it morning already? Another sleepless night and my head felt like a million cotton balls resided in it. Disoriented didn’t even begin to describe how I felt.  How would I ever get through the day? Needless to say I was anxious, which explains the sleepless night. I've always been that way, excited and anxious before a big event. Like a kid at Christmas waiting for Santa. 

Coffee was definitely on the agenda. Lots and lots of coffee. I bided my time until a reasonable time to make the phone call regarding a query, and it was only 7 AM. Watching the clock didn't help and I busied myself around my apartment.
The submission guidelines allowed me to present the query via phone or email. I opted for phone because I'd get my answer immediately. 

    Finally eight o'clock rolled around and I garnered up the courage to call, only to have the receptionist tell me to call back later. It wasn't easy getting the courage to submit. No one likes rejections and I've had my fair share. Most writers will tell you they can wallpaper a room with them. I certainly could. But as a wise person once told me, if you don't submit, you'll never get an acceptance either. Submitting over the phone via mail or email took a lot of courage.   

 My nerves on edge, I sipped my coffee, sat at my computer, and pondered my notes. Did I have everything I wanted to say? Would I sound professional enough?  Maybe it would be better to email a query.

Either way I’d have to wait. If I made the phone call, hopefully the editor of Ohio Writer's Magazine would be in a good mood and I’d get the answer right away. Decisions, decisions. 
    I took a deep breath, wishing my stomach would calm down. I hated waiting for anything. Patience was not one of my better virtues.     

    I opened my email screen to compose. “I called a magazine a few minutes after 8 and can't call back until  9:30.” I wrote to my writing buddy. Hopefully, she'd answer right away and help me pass the time, give me the encouragement I needed, and critique my query. 

No such luck. Apparently she wasn't online. I stared at the clock, watching the numbers slowly tick away.  Only 8:15, more than an hour to wait. There was only one thing to do. 
    Write! 
    Okay but write what? My brain was so focused on this query I couldn't think of anything else. I went to the kitchen for more coffee, stopped and chatted with my grandson, who had spent the night. He wasn’t in a chatty mood, too glued to the television screen. He didn't even want breakfast, which would have passed some time.

    I glanced at the clock again, only 8:20, still more than an hour. 
    I really shouldn't complain, it wasn't as bad as mailing a query and waiting 4 to 6 weeks for an answer. Often times a rejection. 
    I sat back at the computer and tried to write but the blank page on the computer screen stared back at me. 

I tapped my fingers on the keyboard. What to do?  I look over my notes again. It wasn’t a bad query, with a little work maybe I could improve it.  My fingers moved rapidly over the key board. Finished I leaned back, looked at it for a moment.  "Yes!"   

"Did you call me?" My grandson appeared in the doorway.

"Huh? Oh no." I hadn't realized I spoke aloud. "Just talking to myself" He disappeared into the other room, and I chuckled. I'm sure he thought I was nuts. 
    I shrugged and looked at the computer screen. Just do it an inner voice said. I moved the cursor to select all, clicked it, and then copy. I opened the email screen, typed in the address of the magazine. Should I do this? 
Do it something inside said. If I sent the email by time the editor came in it would be there. Besides, what if she didn't like my voice or what if I stammered and stuttreed? No mattr how rehearsed I was, sometimes the words fumbled out of my mouth.

What the heck, I had nothing to lose. I moved the mouse over the send button.  A click and it disappeared. Gone. Off into cyber space.  

An hour later, I had my answer via email. Send the article, we’ll look at it.  This time the query paid off, I’m glad I didn’t wait.  If only every query turned out so easy.  But, alas, it’s not the norm, often it’s a flat out rejection. If I had allowed my fear of rejection stop me from submitting I never would have been published. Fortunately, I discovered the worst they could say was no and if you don't try, you'll never know. Of course, they still had to accept the article. So the waiting wasn't over yet.

My article, Show Me the Story appeared in the Nov/Dec 2004 issue of Ohio Writer's Magazine.

Is it possible to have too many books? by Michelle Lee

My husband teases me (sometimes not so affectionately) about my bookshelves.  And my stacks of books.

I am a voracious reader - I average about 100 pages an hour, and anywhere between 5-10 books a week.

I take a book with me everywhere - the doctor's office, to the DMV, the bathroom, you get the idea.  I read both print and ebooks ... I buy books new and used, and borrow from the library (generally when I want to try a new to me author).

For one of my anniversaries, my father-in-law built me a seven foot tall, seven foot wide bookshelf, with the shelves perfectly spaced for books.  It fits great on my landing going upstairs.  It's also full.

As are the bookshelves in my bedroom, in the hallway leading to my room, in my living room, etc ...

So I am always on the lookout for creative ways to house my plethora of books.  Here are a few that I have found and would love to have the ability to create.

FURNITURE

STAIRS

READING NOOKS

(This one used to be a closet)

(This also used to be a closet - and not only is it filled with books, but the doors are also bookshelves.)

(Another door/bookshelf - looks like maybe a library behind the door.)

GUEST ROOMS

Now in my search for creative book solutions, I have come across some other ideas for guestrooms, extra storage, etc.

So what do you think ...  Is it possible to have too many books?

Any book shelf ideas to share?  

~ Michelle

Statistically I don't exist by Sheila Claydon

I received a letter from the Office for National Statistics. It said I had been selected from the UK's Royal Mail's list of addresses to form part of a sample that represents the entire country. What it really means is that it's a mini census about a specific issue and the information given helps government departments, local authorities and charities make decisions about how they will spend their money.The European Union also uses the results as do schools and universities.

I know it works because a number of years ago a much needed local traffic system was approved as a result of a similar survey. This one, however, was not about transport and roads, it was about employment.

A man wearing a identification card on a cord around his neck duly arrived and, once he'd got his computer to work, started asking the questions. The first ones were easy. Name, age, household, health, da-di-da-di-da. So were the next ones about qualifications, past employment, retirement, tax benefits etc. Things started to get tricky when we started talking about the present though.

It didn't seem like a difficult question. Are you still in any form of paid employment? But it was.

Yes, I'm a self-employed writer.

A fair bit of hemming and hawing and then 'There isn't a writer category on the list."

Try author.

Ah yes there is one for author. I can slot you in there. Do you work full time or part time?

Part time.

Would that be mornings or afternoons, or part of a week?

All of those...sometimes.

Could you be more specific?

No because there's no pattern.  I work flexibly. I might write almost full time for a week and then, because of other commitments, not work at all for two weeks.

By full time do you mean Monday to Friday?

No. It could be Monday to Sunday or, in another week, just the Wednesday.

Do you work in the evenings?

Yes.

How many evenings do you work?

It's impossible to quantify because it depends on what else is going on in my life.

Do you work at night?

If you mean right through the night then no but I sometimes work really late.

Would you say you write every day?

No. As I said it's flexible but I do look at my work related emails every day.

So would you say that's two hours a day or is it more than that?

Far less than that usually but occasionally I have to follow something up immediately and that might take a bit longer.

So can I put two hours a day?

I was feeling sorry for the guy by then so I almost nodded because I really, really wanted him to be able to tick a box. I didn't though because it wouldn't have been true.

So fellow writers (or authors if you prefer) how would you fare if the very nice man from the Office of National Statistics visited you? Would you fit into his nice orderly boxes or are you like me, an 'if and when' writer who has to take her chances when she can?

I'm not sure what the government and all those other worthy bodies are going to make of my answers. I guess they won't even see them, they'll just see a minor blip in the employment statistics that will eventually be published.  In the meantime maybe I should try to work in a more orderly fashion. After all it would be nice to be able to tick one of those boxes.

One of my heroines had to tick boxes. That was Claire in my book Reluctant Date. She was ticking boxes on an Internet Dating site though, and that's a whole other story.

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