My First Writer's Conference by Diane Bator

 

This feels a bit like an essay I did once in school.  What I Did This Summer by Diane Bator. Remember those? Only this one is about something I did for the first time as a published writer. I attended a writer's conference. Yes, it's taken me eight novels to finally get to one!

I've read about friends traveling to conferences all over the place but was lucky that the Writers' Community of York Region sponsored one in Newmarket, Ontario this past weekend. This was the first event the WCYR had ever hosted and it was well attended by over 100 writers from all over Southern Ontario.

We started the day in the atrium of the Newmarket Town Hall with coffee and muffins and received a great new folder to take notes in. After a few brief words from on of the coordinators, we broke into groups for our chosen morning sessions.

My first session was with romance novelist Zoe York, author of more than 50 romance novels. She discussed Marketing for Genre Fiction. A lot of writers in the room were either looking to publish a novel or had published 1 or 2 novels. The one thing I found most interesting were the questions she gave us to think about no matter where we were at in our journeys.

1. What genre do you want to be writing and what type of books do you want to write? ie. genre, heat level, setting, tone, etc.
2. What are the next 5 books you want to write?
3. Can you group thematically or do they exist in the same world? Explain that world in a common theme in a sentence or two. ie. small town romance with sexy cowboy.
4. On a blank piece of paper, list all of your work to date, published or unpublished, finished or in draft/dream stage.

One of the other things they offered throughout the day were 20 minute Blue Pencil Meetings. The opportunity to sit with a fellow writer or editor and ask them questions as well as getting feedback on their novel. I passed on this chance for this conference, but other writers I chatted with were happy with the feedback they received.

Lunch was simple, soup and sandwiches along with some yummy chocolate chip cookies for dessert. While we ate, we were also able to purchase raffle tickets and enter them to win several beautiful baskets donated by sponsors, including the writing group I belong to. Draws were made at the end of the day. I didn't win any, but the woman who drove me to the conference did!

After lunch we were treated to a keynote speech from Terry Fallis, author of The Best Laid Plans and two-time winner of the Stephen Leacock Medal for Humour. He is a huge fan of being a Plotter when he writes his books. In fact, he plans them in great detail before he writes something I don't think I could ever do! I'm part plotter, part pantser. One thing he said that surprised many people in attendance was that he still works full time. After writing seven novels and receiving many awards, he still must hold a 9-to-5 job.

I was a bit concerned about the afternoon session. The handouts we'd received the week before suggested a very academic-style of session. Luckily, Kate Freiman, author of romantic fiction, was entertaining and the whole afternoon was more interesting than I expected. She discussed blending genres and story structure. Hard to believe I was the only self-professed mystery writer in the room.

Back in the main banquet room afterward, winning tickets were drawn for the gift baskets then my friend and I left. On the way out the door, we received a swag bag with some bookmarks and the like as well as three books. These were mine!

1. Lac Athabasca (a play) by Len Falkenstein
2. Doc Christmas by Neil Enock
3. Mad Men and Philosphy, which is an anthology.

Yay! More new-to-me authors!

I have one year until the next (fingers crossed!) York Writers Conference. I may do some searching and find a couple more I can fit into my schedule. 

In the meantime, I won't quit my day job, but I won't stop dreaming and writing either!

Looking for more New-to-You authors or familiar authors? Visit my blog every Sunday for Escape with a Writer Sunday at https://dbator.blogspot.com/

Feel free to check out my books at http://bookswelove.net/authors/bator-diane-mystery/

Diane Bator

author of Wild Blue Mysteries, Gilda Wright Mysteries, & Glitter Bay Mysteries.

Soup, Soup, and More Soup

It's no secret in my family, I love soup. Just about any kind of soup. And I'm always willing to try new recipes. The latest recipe I tried was for Zuppa Toscana, a soup they serve at Olive Garden.






I came by this recipe on Facebook. With a few minor changes (some suggested by the person who gave the recipe) I made it. I must admit, it was delicious. Even my hubby liked it and he's not big on creamed soups of any kind.
Another recipe I made recently was for Cream of Chicken soup - Can you tell I like cream soups. But truthfully, my all time favorite is home made chicken soup like grandma used to make. In my opinion, you just can't beat it. My mom also made this soup. Every Sunday. She stuffed the chicken first with cracker stuffing, Just before it was done, she took the chicken out and finished it in the oven. We ate the soup, with thin noodles - always thin, never wide noodles. To this day Chicken Soup tastes better with thin noodles. But that's neither here nor there. We'd eat the soup for lunch - usually around 1:00, then go to my grandparents' house. When we returned home, Mom put the chicken back in the oven to heat, made rice, (almost always rice but occasionally mashed potatoes) gravy, and a vegetable. That's what we had for dinner.
I said earlier you couldn't beat the soup, that's not quite true. Chicken, stuffing, mashed potatoes or rice, gravy, and vegetable were (are) my all time favorites.
When I first got married, I continued my mom's tradition of making chicken soup every Sunday.  Sometimes we visited my grandparents or my parents and sometimes my in-laws, and sometimes we just stayed home. Whatever we did, we followed the same routine of soup for lunch and chicken for dinner.
Of course just being the two of us - except when my husband's friend dropped in - we always had leftovers and dinner for Monday and sometimes Tuesday.  As for me, I could eat soup all week. With the exception of summer that is.  I can't bring myself to eat soup in the summer even though I grew up with it.
I can't remember exactly when but my husband asked me when I was going to make something American. American??? What was wrong with chicken soup?
He said he'd like some fried chicken for a change. I didn't have a clue how to make fried chicken. My mother never made fried chicken. She made Chicken Soup, Roasted Chicken, Chicken Paprikash, and Chicken with Gravy, but never just plain old Fried Chicken. My first attempts at making it from a cookbook weren't all that good. The breading always fell off. To this day, I don't make good Fried Chicken. So I stick with Chicken soup.
I'll never forget the day my mom told me that  my dad said he didn't mind telling her he wasn't all that crazy about chicken soup. After fifty years of marriage and making soup every Sunday - that's almost 3000 Sundays she made soup. God love him, he ate soup every week and never said a word. Of course, we laughed about it. Mom didn't think it was too funny at first.
I learned just how hurt she was when my husband informed me after 50+ years of marriage, the he wasn't all that crazy about carrots in the chicken soup. Seriously. I always made sure I gave him a lot of carrots and the poor man never said anything. Now, I'm very careful not to give him too many, which is fine, more for me. LOL And recently he told me he doesn't like mashed potatoes. Who doesn't like mashed potatoes, come to find out the only kind of potatoes he does like are french fried or fried. But, God love him, he eats them.
I still make soup often, but not every Sunday. In fact, I make it any day of the week when I have a taste for it. I usually make a large pot and have it for lunch every day until it's gone. Nothing better on cold winter days.
I'm looking forward to our traditional Christmas Eve Dinner (which we'll have on Dec. 15th this year, too hard to get everyone together on Christmas Eve. That's the day we have Mushroom Soup. Only day of the year we make it.
I found several crockpot soup recipes I want to try soon.

You can find the recipe for Zuppa Toscana Here Another, easier version made in the crockpot can be found here

BWL Publishing takes a break in December, so instead of our normal new release posts we're offering you our Holiday eBooks for only .99 cents each.  Scroll to the bottom for purchase information.

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The old Santa’s drunk and Mandy Brooks, assistant manager of Wentworth’s, an upmarket department store doesn’t do Christmas. Then she’s forced to play the part of Mrs Santa in the store’s grotto. Trouble is Santa’s replacement is a blast from her past – one she ran away from at the altar five years ago.

Ditched on his wedding day, Tate Sullivan left town. Now he’s back and he’s got unfinished business with Mandy Brooks. He wants her back in his bed on his terms, his way. But nothing is going according to plan. (A Novella)

I really liked the premise of this story: two people being locked into a store on Christmas Eve during a snowstorm. Mandy and Tate have a lot of feelings, both good and bad about each other, and neither knows the whole story. Their mothers have a lot to answer for. The love scenes between the two are scorchers and the Mrs. Claus outfit makes for a few chuckles. This is a great holiday story. Maura, Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance & More

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Every Christmas Eve, Luke and Mary Cassidy’s friends and family gather to celebrate the holiday. From the kitchen wafts the scent of sugar cookies, fruit cake, and hot cider, not to mention all the other goodies.

Gathered around the piano singing carols is a prelude to the Christmas Eve church service.

This year Mary is worried about her beloved Luke’s health and she’s keeping an eye on the newly wedded Rob and Kayla. The poor girl is having a hard time keeping her cowboy hog-tied.

Then there’s Cale and Michelle. She loves Michelle like the daughter she never had, and Mary is afraid the silly girl will let her pride get in the way of her happiness with the young vet who has bought into the practice. A match maker’s work is never done it seems. What better season than Christmas to give true love a tiny push?

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 Ryan hopes the adage “you can’t go home again” isn’t true because he hopes to find a miracle in his hometown.

A single dad, he quits his job and takes Emma, his ten year old daughter, back to Snow, the sometimes magical coal mining town in the hills of western Pennsylvania.

In addition to helping his aunt at the bakery, Ryan reconnects with a group of friends he’s known all his life as they struggle with the controversy for more efficient energy – coal versus wind – hard to do in a coal mining town.

As autumn turns to winter, Emma explores the secrets of Snow with her new friend, Charlie. When they discover an old man, new to town, remodeling the toy store, they set out to prove he’s Santa Clause.

Always Believe is a heartwarming story with all the enchantment of the holiday – a small town with stores like the Snickerdoodle Bakery and Wonderland Bookstore, a snow festival and children’s Christmas pageant, a touch of romance, and of course, a miracle or two.

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Chantilly Morrison is set to launch Chantilly Frost, a new cosmetics line, by holding a “Dear Santa” contest to make women’s fantas

ies come true. But because of an error in the ad copy, she’s inundated with letters from children, whose scribbled wishes tug at her heart. She hires an investigator to find the letter writers so she can throw a huge Christmas party and make the children’s fantasies come true.

AJ Anderson can find the unfindable, whether it’s lost artifacts or people, and he’s very good at his job. But when Chanti dumps hundreds of letters in his lap with the directive to find the children-- before Christmas Eve-- he knows the request is impossible, but the woman is irresistible.

Should he use his skills to make her Christmas wish come true, or can he use the count down to Christmas to find the key that unlocks the lady’s heart?

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 Stacy Martin, who has been married three times and had many relationships, doesn’t want a man in her life right now but her friends have other ideas. As a forty-ninth birthday present they pay for her to join three dating sites on the Internet. She just has to fill out the forms and pick the men she wants to meet. The only stipulation is that she must find a man by Christmas Eve so that the two of them can join Kate, one of her friends, and her boyfriend in Hawaii for New Year’s Eve.

“All you have to do is pick twelve men to date in December,” Kate said. “After the first date you can decide if you want to see each again. In the end you should be able to choose one for our Hawaii trip.”

Stacy has a full life with owning a flight attendant school, owning a rental condo, and owning a cat. Will she choose a man from a dating site, the man who has accused her female renters of being prostitutes, or a stranger she meets as he is leaving the rental condo building?

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Angel has a job to do—leave heaven and fix Clark Lannigan’s life, teaching him to live again, and to love. But how can she succeed when Clark is living a life surrounded by so much guilt that he’s too afraid to let go.


Then there’s Angel Rule 750.2, paragraph A, no canoodling with the client. Oops she’s broken that, and now she’s fallen in love with him. So what does an angel do?

She sets him ten tasks, but neither of them want to obey rule number ten….NO KISSING

“To Kiss An Angel is a cute, humorous holiday treat. Filled with sass and wit, you will enjoy Clark and Angel’s story. This is a great gift for yourself or a friend anytime of the year you would like a bit of sweet treat.” ~ Matilda, Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance & More

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It’s the first day of December, snow is in the air and Gracie Singleton Saylor is shopping for a Christmas tree, when she runs smack into Merett Bradmoore, her High School hero and his seven-year-old daughter.

Seeing he’s not the happy-go-lucky guy he used to be, she’s determined to restore the gift of optimism he gave her fifteen years ago. But can she return his hope without losing her own?

Enter the zoning board, an old enemy and the personal problems of Gracie’s two sister, Hope and Faith. Mix in a mischievous cat named Spook, a huge furry mutt named Dumbell, and a spirit named Mirabelle who’s looking for her lost love, and you wonder – can holiday magic triumph?

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Day after Turkey

See all my historical novels @

http://julietwaldron.com/books.htm

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Day after Thanksgiving here. We've reached the life stage where family lives far away and there are no youngsters nearby. Down to bare minimum family now. A brother-in-law who visits from Maryland. We cook less every year, but it's still too much. Husband & his brother have gone down to Lancaster County to go knife shopping on Black Friday, so here I am--tardy--but here.


Anyone who writes about Mozart has to have a love for opera, and if you've been reading me for even a small time, you know I truly adore this old, peculiar western art form. I'm beginning to break free of the tried and true repertory. (How many Madame Butterflys can you absorb?) The wonderful innovation of Met performances showing at the Movies allows me to go with a fellow devotee to see a performance from NYC of Philip Glass's opera, Akenaten.

Usually, you "hear" an opera more than "see" it. In the case of this production, however, the visual was a partner to the music.  As a result of the one-two punch, the performance stunned us.  Juggling has been added to the staging, and it provided another way to enter into entrancement. This composer is sometimes accused of creating what  has been called "Philip Glass Time," in which the audience is left spellbound. The popular genre this music is most clearly related to is Trance. 

And that's where I'll leave this, because words fail me. I can't do justice to this performance which combines choreography, music of orchestra and voice, and spectacle filled with color and symbolism.

Karen Almond / Metropolitan Opera) as seen in Opera Wire

Nefertiti & Akenaten

Karen Kamensek was the conductor; good to see a woman take the podium and do exactly what the work needed. No outsize stars here, just an astonishing piece of teamwork, craft, professionalism and ART. 

My friend and I were hypnotized. It took us a few minutes to collect our wits and walk with great care out of the theater with all those multi-plex (disorienting!) carpet patterns. Hours had passed; when we finally saw a clock, we were surprised by how late it was.     

Here's a link--barely a minute of your time, if you are curious.
  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rSn_UAquOfw

~~Juliet Waldron

See all my historical novels @

http://julietwaldron.com/books.htm

KOBO

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Holiday Traditions, Old, New, and (maybe) Improved by Connie Vines

Traditions

Remember when we were in elementary school and sang those multi-generation holiday songs?

One that comes to mind:

Over the river and through the woods,
To grandmother's house we go;

The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh,
Through (the) white and drifted snow!
Over the river and through the woods,
Oh, how the wind does blow!

It stings the toes and bites the nose,
As over the ground we go.
Over the river and through the woods,
Trot fast, my dapple gray!

Spring over the ground,
Like a hunting hound!
For this is Thanksgiving Day.
Over the river and through the woods,

Now Grandmother's cap I spy!
Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!

In the U.S.A.  when we were in elementary school we traced an out-line of our little hand, coloring each finger to appear as a turkey’s tail feathers.  The palm was the turkey’s body and our thumb the turkey’s neck and head.  We sat on the sofa, with our stomach growling, waiting for the turkey to be removed, golden and hot, from the oven.  Gaze locked the lovely prepared pumpkin pies and the like resting on the sideboard.

While, I certain many children would recognize the song, few are going to sit around at grandma’s after the final bite of pumpkin pie is consumed.

Why?  Because Black Friday starts on Thursday afternoon.  With Cyber Monday right upon its heels!

I can count, on the fingers of one hand, the number of times I’ve venture out (rising at 3:00 AM) on Black Friday to go shopping.  FYI: It’s not happening this year either.

I often shop on Cyber Monday (though I can usually find comparable money-saving deal of non-tech items) all through the month of November.

I will spend my Thanksgiving in my kitchen preparing dinner, setting my table, and sharing food and fond memories with family and friends.

Chanel (my poodle) may order her new winter sweater online before I cozy up in my wing back chair with my e-reader and a new novel from BWL. 

Tomorrow, I may unpack my Christmas decorations and start listen to Christmas music.

But not today.

Thursday is Thanksgiving—the day we give thanks.  I am thankful for Family and dear Friends-- everyone here at BooksWeLove, and our treasured readers.

I wish everyone a healthy and a happy holiday season.

Now, please enjoy a few holiday memes and remember we have holiday discounts on our eBooks –no Black Friday lines, or need to wait for Cyber Monday!

Celebrate the holidays with one of my novels:

 Univeral Book Links
https://books2read.com/Brede

BookBub

Overdrive

CULTURE SHOCK - Or, don’t mess with apple pie - by Vijaya Schartz

AKIRA'S CHOICE, Byzantium Book 2 Sci-fi Romance
More of Vijaya Schartz' book from BWL HERE

Edouard Herriot famously said that culture is what remains when one has forgotten everything. Culture in the French vocabulary of the period meant learning and knowledge, but the saying is also true in today’s extended meaning of the word. 

We speak of ancient cultures, of the Egyptians, the Greeks, the Romans, their philosophy and their mythology. We speak of the great artists of the Renaissance. They left long lasting testimonies of their history, architecture, writings, and way of life… Some say modern culture will only be evident when we are long gone and forgotten. 

I say culture is not only art, architecture, wisdom, or knowledge, but it is how we treat each other, and how we celebrate life, family, and the traditions that accompany good and bad events in our lives. 

Being raised in France, my first contact with America over the course of a three-month summer vacation was a true culture shock. I didn’t understand fast-food. Who in their right mind would eat ketchup? Why stick a piece of dry meat between two dry buns, when you can simmer your own coq-au-vin and bake potatoes au-gratin? 

I couldn’t understand why Americans worked such long hours and never took extended vacations. The French, even in those days, took five weeks of mandatory paid vacation each year, and often took a few extra, unpaid vacation weeks as well, with their employers’ blessing. Many French companies still close completely for an entire month each summer. 

When I returned to France, that fall, I declared that I would never want to live in America. These people were crazy, frantic, and didn’t know how to live… and they probably thought the same thing about me. 

As things go, life has a way of making you regret such statements made in the ignorance of youth. While studying in an ashram in India, where I felt totally at ease, despite the many cultural differences, I met an American man and fell in love. We were married, and I came to live with him in the United States. 

Imagine my reaction when he took me to eat a T-bone steak at Jack in the Box, on a paper plate, with plastic flatware. The culture shock was back. Never in my life had I cut a steak with a plastic knife. From then on, I cooked at home. It was great for a while, but soon, my husband missed American food… which I didn’t care for, and didn’t know how to cook. 

This was decades ago, and I since learned to appreciate American food and culture. I understand that a busy life requires take out or fast food, in order to spend more time with family. My mother spent all her time in the kitchen. I can now fully enjoy a barbecue party, or a seafood buffet. I absolutely love apple pie a la mode (which surprised me at first, because the French do not eat pie with ice-cream). I smile when I hear my neighbors shouting at the referee during a football game… although I still cook most of my meals at home… you know… trying to eat healthy. 

I even corrected my husband when he said America had no culture, compared to the Europeans, the Greeks or the Egyptians. But America is still young. These ancient cultures had a chance to mature over many centuries. Besides, Lady Liberty could compete with the colossus of Rhodes, and what about the faces carved in the rock of Mount Rushmore? 

Because America is young, it experiences many growing pains and is learning to cope with change, and handle diversity. It’s not an easy task, and progress is painful and takes time. Yet in the midst of all that, America has all kinds of great cultural traditions, because of its diversity. Emigrants from many countries melted their cultures together so much that we do not exactly know where American traditions come from. You can experience Mardi-Gras in New Orleans, or a Greek Festival in California. American pizza (nothing like its Italian ancestor) is now conquering Europe. Who hasn’t enjoyed a bagel smeared with cream cheese, or sushi, or Mexican food, Thai food, or Chinese take out? America embraced all these different cultures and from them, forged its own. 

But Thanksgiving is definitely a unique holiday of the American continent (although Europe is now trying to copy it), and I am ready to enjoy it to the fullest. I wish you all a fantastic Thanksgiving, with turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, and all. And I’ll take my pie a la mode, merci beaucoup.

For a total culture shock, read ASHES FOR THE ELEPHANT GOD, a reincarnation love story set in India.

amazon  -  B&N  -  Smashwords  -  Kobo

To scatter her brother's ashes over the Narmada River, Fabienne leaves France for the mysterious India of her childhood dreams. As she awakens to a newfound spirituality, unexpected visions of a former life during the Raj stir ancient yearnings for a long lost passion. Mukunda, the palace architect Fabienne loved a century and a half ago, lives again as an American engineer and works on the local dam project.

As Fabienne falls in love again with India and the man of her destiny, the tapestry of her previous life unfolds. But, in the karmic land of the blue gods, a ruthless foe lies in wait. The Kali worshiper, who murdered the two lovers in a faraway past, has come back through the centuries to thwart their dream once more.

"... a broad-stroked, magnificent picture of a lavish India of the past and the present... a vivid tale of suspense... a gripping account of a woman coming to terms with heightened awareness... destiny." The Book Reader

"... entertaining, fast-paced yet deeply spiritual... Here is a superior metaphysical novel!" Richard Fuller - Metaphysical Reviews

"... passionate... love, lust, faith and deception... a magnificent offering to the world of fiction..." The Charlotte Austin Review

"...rich, sensual... multilayered... a thriller... magical, mystical book..." Writer's Digest

"...a striking and highly recommended metaphysical novel..." Midwest Book Review

Vijaya Schartz, author
 Strong heroines, brave heroes, cats, romance with a kick
 http://www.vijayaschartz.com
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Another trip down memory lane with Tricia McGill

Find all my books on my Books We love author page

While taking a look at some old posts of mine I came across this one I wrote in 2014. How times change. Although I stated at the end that I was never going to move again--I have done just that. Our requirements change with age. 

Anyway, this was my post titled—there’s no place like home.

Or is there?

It occurred to me lately that I live in a very confined area. I don’t drive distances as I once did, and tend to stay nearer home. A lot of this is due perhaps because the roads aren’t like they used to be in what us older people refer to as “the good ol’ days”. 

I’ve towed an 18 foot caravan around Australia when my husband had to give up driving after one of his early strokes, but as much as I would love to take off, and still envy folk who take to the highways and byways of this beautiful country I call home, I couldn’t stand the hectic pace on the roads these days.

A hair raising drive on an unmade road around a mountain

My pondering came about after reading Sandy’s post of a day or so ago when I commented that if I returned to my hometown I’d be hard-pressed after so many years to find more than about six people apart from family and a few friends who would remember me. Of course my hometown was London and to be more specific Highbury in Nth London, which was no small town by any stretch of the imagination.

I then pondered on the fact that perhaps I am a homebody who likes to be in familiar places, but then I started to think about the places around the world I have visited and it occurred to me I’ve been quite a traveller in my time.

My first trip in a plane was to San Sebastian in Spain. In those days a trip to anywhere in Europe was considered very extravagant. My sister was getting married at the end of that year and I was to be married soon after, so we took the opportunity to travel before settling down. While there we took a bus trip to Madrid, where we walked out of a bullfight in disgust after about half an hour. I guess we only expected all the grandeur of the parade and never considered the poor bull was going to die a slow death. I have to say here that we were told afterwards it was a very poor fight and the matador was not considered very good. We also went on a bus trip to a coastal resort in France. I can’t recall exactly where but do remember the horrendous drive where the driver seemed intent on killing us all, driving along mountain roads like a kamikaze pilot.

After my marriage my husband and I drove every year to Devon or

Cornwall. For anyone who knows that area of England my favorite places were Crantock or Lynton/Lynmouth. I expect both have changed considerably since the 60s.

Of course the biggest journey of all came when we migrated to Australia. We opted to come by sea, and sailed on the Fairstar, a recently refitted liner, in 1966. The sea trips from England to Australia were abandoned long ago, so we were very fortunate. It took exactly four weeks. Now when I refer to the Good Old Days you will understand what I mean when I tell you that along the way we went on a side trip to Cairo and the Pyramids at Giza. In those days ships travelled through The Suez Canal. We left the ship and stayed overnight in Cairo. Next morning we were up early and took a camel ride to the nearby pyramids. Then we visited the museum where the stand out was Tutankhamen's artefacts. Next we went by bus to Giza to see the Great Sphinx and pyramids. We met up with the ship again and continued on our journey. All this for 8 pounds sterling!

My husband went back to England about six times over the years, but I only returned once and that was in 1975. On the return trip we stayed overnight in Singapore.

I’ve travelled extensively in Australia, been right around the coastline once, up the inland road to Darwin, over to the west a couple of times travelling across the Nullarbor Plain. I’ve stroked a dolphin in the sea at Monkey Mia in WA, visited Uluru in the red centre, and swam in the warmest, clearest water you can imagine off the Great Barrier Reef, walked through magnificent rain forests, driven across unmade roads and along highways, seen a platypus swimming in his natural Tasmanian habitat, and emus and kangaroos running free. I’ve been across to Tasmania more times than I can remember, sometimes by air and other times on the ferry. For years we towed a caravan—our preferred means of travel as we could then take our dogs along. My husband would have spent all his days on the road, but I was always glad to get home, to sleep in my own bed.

So, back to where I started, there is obviously no place like home for me. But then home is where the heart is. My early years were spent in a tenement house in Nth London where I was surrounded by love and had no idea that we were not rich. But after my mother passed away that ceased to be home so anywhere my husband and I were together was home. I will remain in this house until they carry me out. My heart is here.

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