Back to How To Write a Novel

Daily Productivity

James O Born

One of the biggest changes for me once I became published was recognizing the fact that I could no longer spend several years on a novel.  There were deadlines and revisions and an entire life to live outside the world of writing.  It was a transition at first, but took less than a year to fall into a routine.  When I say routine, I don't mean a routine that wears you out, but understanding how much work I needed to do each day to stay on track and not feel severe pressure from deadlines.

I'm writing this during the month of November, which I am told by reliable sources such as the blog site Writers Who Kill  is national write a novel month.  Paula Benson, my friend who penned the piece, points out several instances of famous writers who could produce quickly if needed.  One example in particular I liked was Ray Bradbury, who would use a typewriter at a university which required a ten cent an hour fee.  It forced him to write quickly and creatively.  It should be noted to anyone who wishes to whine about the time required to write effectively that Ms. Benson, although she would never admit this, is almost solely responsible for the effective administration and running of the entire state of South Carolina.  I look forward to your e-mail on the subject.

Side note: I started this blog in November but deadlines and holidays delayed it.  I’m revising and editing it on January 14. 

Over the last decade I’ve attended dozens and dozens of conferences and sat on panels that discussed every aspect of writing.  I can remember one in particular, Mystery Florida in Sarasota, Florida, where I learned quite a bit about the process of writing.  I was on a panel with the late Stuart Kaminsky, a MWA grandmaster and all-around good guy, who said he wrote about thirty-five pages of text a day.  To keep it in perspective, I generally shoot for about 1000 words or five pages of text a day.  That keeps me frazzled and frail, yet this man who was twenty years my senior had no issue with it.  I kept my yap shut about my productivity during the panel.

On a separate occasion at Mystery Florida, Michael Connelly made an offhand comment that he felt that, at and minimum, you should work on a novel in progress at least 30 minutes a day.  For some reason that resonated with me.  I suspect it's the fact that it wasn't a great amount of time that I had to absolutely dedicate every day.  It's also important to understand that Mr. Connelly is a graduate of the University of Florida and anything a UF grad can do, I can do better.  Except, apparently, write best-selling novels.  Regardless, Mr. Connelly, who is well-known in the Mystery community as a slacker, imparted an idea to me which has stuck with me ever since.  I'm not saying I only work half an hour a day, but I always work at least 30 minutes each day.

Another interesting offhand comment I heard once was from my good friend Bob Morris, unfortunately also a graduate of the University of Florida.  When asked at a panel at Bookmania in Stuart, Florida, how many words a day he wrote, his response was both logical and pragmatic.  He said that since he had been a columnist for newspapers most of his life he felt like 750 words a day was about right.  That also made me consider the issue more carefully.

It's easy for me to say that I write 1000 words a day, but then there are other issues to consider.  Are those edited?  Are they re-edited?  Are they revised and edited a third or fourth time?  Because that's what the finished product really is.  A thousand words or five double-spaced pages doesn't sound overwhelming to me.  I can tackle that in a day.  The next day I will have to edit those thousand words and then write another thousand.  The day after that I will edit the 2000 words and write 1000 more.  I think you're starting to get the picture.  It's not that easy.

I have a number of friends who now make the majority of their income through books which are sold on Amazon or other e-book retailers.  One of the things I've noticed each of them comment on was how important speed was in producing a book.  They wanted to have as much product as possible on the bookshelf, so to speak, to get Amazon to notice their books and start to promote them.

The big question becomes, "how fast is too fast?"  I think the answer is that it depends on each writer.  Everyone has their own process.  Jonathan King, the Edgar award winning author once told me he had to think about a book for months before he could start working on it.  I like that idea.  It gives me a chance to think about a book while I'm doing other things.  You might notice that this is something I have advocated on this blog a number of times.  If you're a runner there is no better time to consider your novel than while completing your early morning jog.  If you enjoy yardwork, most of the time you can be thinking about your novel while you're prunning your rose bushes.  If you make your living dismantling bombs for the military, that is one of the few jobs I would say, “Keep your mind on the task at hand.”

For the rest of us, you get the idea.

Is writing a novel in a month a good idea?  That depends on what you're trying to accomplish.

The Real McCoy

Patty here…

Last Monday I rambled on about my renewed interest in searching for my roots. At the time, I was on the verge of identifying the country of origin for one branch of my family. Today, I know…at least, I think I do.

My great grandmother was Emaline (Emiline/Emeline) McCoy. She was born in the U.S., but I wanted to know what country her kin came from. Once again, I tapped into research already done by others and traced Emaline’s line back to 1711 in Argyllshire, Scotland where the Highland Clan Campbell ruled the land. Argyllshire is located in western Scotland and includes the Isle of Mull where I spent a delightful few days many years ago.

Trekking on the Isle of Mull in my Lilliputian pink rain jacket

And they also have cool boats

As I searched databases and added names to my family tree, I found a married couple whose names matched my ancestor’s names but who lived a century later. Tilt! Did somebody incorrectly record the dates? Were the duplicate names a coincidence? (I was finding many name repetitions. Seriously, there are other names besides William and James. Get creative, people!) Or was the information I’d originally gathered just plain wrong? This was a mystery I wanted to solve, so I found a site that listed the names from Parishes in Argyllshire during that period. My kin were not listed and therefore the link to me could not be corroborated. I want to believe my McCoys had once lived in Argyll, because I love their socks.

Dig those socks

Then it occurred to me that sorting out conflicting information like this is also a mystery writer’s dilemma (and a journalist’s and a detective’s). “Facts” must be verified. Suspects eliminated. Unfortunately, eye-witness accounts are often unreliable. People forget; they get confused. Sometimes they lie. Sometimes they just write down the wrong dates.

One thing I know for sure is that fictional witnesses should not all be cooperative, spilling their guts for the sake of the plot. The search for truth is messy, frustrating and often emotionally draining. In fiction, this is a good thing, because it creates conflict and as all readers know: no friction, no fiction.

When sending a fictional sleuth to investigate, whether she is a professional or an amateur, it’s important that each witness interviewed has a motive for talking to your hero(ine). Is the witness well-meaning but in his need to be helpful, he pads his story with events that didn’t happen? Is he somebody who doesn’t want to get involved and therefore tells Fictional Investigator that he saw nothing? Or has the emotional shock of a crisis corrupted his memory of events?

Here is an interesting article about the challenge of witness testimony. Or just ask Jim Born:

http://news.sciencemag.org/policy/2014/10/how-reliable-eyewitness-testimony-scientists-weigh 

So, I'm off to verify The Real McCoys of Argyllshire. In the meantime, Write on! Search on!

HAPPY MONDAY!

About Charlie

from Jacqueline

I’ve been pondering whether to write anything about the terrible, terrible events that unfolded in Paris on Wednesday.  At first, I thought, no – plenty of others, far more politically savvy and far more articulate than I, will be saying everything that needs to be said.  But then it seemed that to write about anything other than our basic right to express our truth would be akin to turning my back on the obvious.  Plus, writing on a blog with a name like this – Naked Authors: The Naked Truth About Literature and Life – we really have to put our two cents worth in there.  So, here’s mine – and my fellow Naked Authors, please chime in with your comments - add them to the end of this post if you like.  Just don’t erase my words though!

 From the very first time I disagreed with my parents on something I’d read in the newspaper – I must have been about nine years old (I know … sassy little moo wasn’t I?), I knew instinctively that, though they did not like what I said, they would do everything in their power to support me in my right to say it.  The fact that they argued their points back to me and waited for my response, even when my father muttered under his breath, “She’s a rebel!” – meant that it was OK to speak your truth in our house, as uncomfortable as that truth might be.  So, I have cherished that right – and I have written about it here on these pages, encouraging other writers never to be assailed by something so minor as writer’s block, when there are guys with serious ammunition killing people for uttering words they didn’t like in countries without some sort of protection and support for the free expression of opinion.  Take this girl for example – and you can’t tell me that she still doesn’t have a price on her head.

 Throughout Europe, illustrated opinion has always been considered as powerful as the written word – possibly more so than in the USA.  In France, especially, satire in the form of a hard-hitting cartoon is an accepted and important part of the political conversation, fanning the flames of heated dialogue, no matter who is offended in the process. Call it Libertie!  On Wednesday, in the offices of Paris-based satirical newspaper, Charlie Hebdo, Islamist assassins (a couple of former rapping, small-time wide-boys) made an attempt to annihilate truth itself because freedom of expression is not part of their worldview.  They live in a country where they have the liberty to think what they like – but the fact that they attempted to punish and halt an expressed worldview different from their own in such an indescribably violent and destructive manner must be countered by anyone who has ever held an opinion in a public forum.  With social media, that probably means a good 75% of us. And thank God writers and artists the world over are picking up the tools of their trade to do just that.  Politicians must avoid tap-dancing around this one in case they lose favor – there is no side-stepping this issue.  In every self-proclaimed democracy there has to be an unequivocal support for freedom of expression, even if you don’t much like what you’re hearing or seeing.

I am a writer of historical fiction, of essays and articles, and though I have written many opinion pieces, writers like me don’t usually draw the kind of ire that leads someone to our doors with Kalashnikovs (I don't even know if that's how you spell it!).  Snarky reviews, maybe.  The odd letter of complaint – of course, we all get those, however I don’t think anyone’s going to kill me over an incorrect date, or some such thing.  But I am really impressed by people who are prepared to stand up and be counted by saying – with their art or craft – something that resonates on a collective scale, or that inspires dialogue, or a good old argument, even if it is not a popular point of view.  And I take my hat off to the many writers and artists who have shot back with their truth in the past day or so.  I am not worthy to be among your number, because you are risking death to tell your story or express your views.  I only ever risk repetitive motion syndrome and a sore back.

God bless you, you journalists and political commentators who speak your truth, who report what you have seen so that we might be better informed, and who risk your life to make us think, even when it's uncomfortable.  I might disagree with what you’ve said, or with what you have written, but by any god that exists, you have a right to your voice - and every time you use it, you empower democracy beyond measure.

Once again, wishing you peace.

Until next time ....

Jacqueline Winspear's guest blog on Thursday

Our own Jackie has graciously provided the story of her search for an agent.  The fact that I tricked her into writing a blog on my assigned day, as well as her own Friday blog makes me feel a little guilty.  But I'll get over it.  My thanks as always.

----Jim Born

In May 2001 I had a really bad riding accident (funnily enough, it was worse than the recent one, but this is more painful). At the time I had a very demanding new day job, and I also had a novel in progress that I was passionate about, but had only written about a quarter of the book at that point. The thing about the new job was that it did not allow an ounce of time for my writing - I felt as if I had sold myself down the river for a 401K and a company car.  The night before the accident, a friend called and said, “How’s that new job going.” And I said, “I would give my right arm not to be doing this job …” And the very next day I broke my right arm and crushed my right shoulder, and as I was flying through the air (and this is absolutely true), I remember thinking, “This is happening because I’m supposed to be writing.” Following surgery, things were pretty grim - we were living in a rural area, no public transportation, I could not drive. My husband dropped me off to spend the day with a friend one day - he would pick me up on the way home from work - and my friend, a well-known local columnist, said to me, “Now’s the time for you to finish that book!” I pointed to my right arm and said, “With this?” And she wisely said, “You’ve got a left arm, haven’t you?” So that was it - I set myself a goal: Within three months I would have 75% of my arm back and I would have a manuscript. The doc had told me I would be lucky to get 65% within a year. I do well with goals. That evening I began work on the Maisie Dobbs manuscript again, with one hand. Soon I was lifting my right hand onto the keyboard because I wanted to go faster. Three months later, at the end of August 2001, I had a manuscript and 85% of my arm back. I had no income, because I had given in my notice on that job - yes, I could have “milked” the system and claimed disability, but the truth was that I knew I would never want to do that job again, and I’m an honest person. I had no idea when I would work again. The other thing was that I was so exhausted, rewriting amounted to running the spell-check. Here’s what happened next:

I invested in Jeff Herman’s book (Guide to Publishers etc …), and went through the list of agents carefully. I knew I needed an agent who was interested in mystery, history, women’s fiction, British fiction, War, and any combination of the foregoing. I tabbed 30 agents. Then I went deeper. My “A” list of 10 agents hit most of the profile points. The “B” list two or three, and the “C” list were hitting one or two, maybe just mystery and history. Then I had to set to work on preparing the proposal. Now, I had worked in academic publishing - which as you know has as much in common with general books as baking has to do with the tech industry. In fact, academic publishing is a first cousin of the tech industry. I had only ever seen proposals for textbooks on subjects such as “Digital Control Systems” or “Principles of Compiler Design.” I had no idea about pitching a mystery - but I did know about business. So, my proposal went way over the top. 

I prepared a one-page synopsis, followed by a detailed chapter breakdown with one paragraph on each chapter, which I thought would demonstrate the arc of the story. I went to bookstores and made notes about where my book would be placed if it was published, and which books would be alongside it. And I read the Acknowledgements page of books that were in the same field as mine, just to see if authors mentioned their agents - and I took those agents names down and did some background reading on them, adjusting my A, B, C profile lists accordingly. The next part of my proposal was “marketing” - which included the information about where the book would be positioned in a bookstore, which other books would be alongside it, and also non-book retail possibilities (special interest WW1 groups, Anglophiles, ex-pats, anything I could think of). I included a resume - completely unnecessary really. And once I’d prepared all the pages of my proposal, I wrote a table of contents for it and put it in a nice little binder. I made ten copies, and I also prepped ten copies of sample chapters - the first chapter, a chapter from the middle and one from towards the end of the book. I wanted to demonstrate the writing from different stages of the story. I clipped my sample pages - about 50 - to the inside back cover of the proposal and I set to work on my one-page cover letter. First paragraph - Introducing my book, this is what it’s about. Second paragraph - this is why it matters to me, personal connection to the story (my story within the story). Third paragraph - why I chose to approach you as an agent, mentioning a couple of the agent’s authors/books. Fourth paragraph - thank you for taking the time to read my proposal, etc., and look forward to hearing from you. The cover letter was the only personalized document - not only in the “Dear XXXX” but in that third paragraph. It demonstrated that I’d done my homework, that I took time over it. On August 31st, 2001, I sent ten packets out to my “A” list (at $3.20 per shot, which was $32.00 I could barely afford, especially when added to Kinko’s costs!!!). My plan was to hit the “B” list when all the refusals were in. I hoped I would not have to go through again and find a “D” list. The packs would have landed around September 4th, so if I was lucky, a few agents would have opened a pack on - yes, September 11th, 2001. When that terrible event happened, I thought, “That’s it - who wants a book about war now?” I knew it was only a matter of time before we were at war. I also knew the publishing industry - vulnerable at the best of times - could end up in the tank. And that’s what agents thought too.

By that time I was cleared to travel, and having gone through a quite difficult recovery, my husband’s friend who worked for United got me a buddy pass to fly to England as soon as airspace was opened up again after 9/11. I had put all thoughts of the fate of the manuscript out of my mind - over 3000 people had been killed, so it seemed beyond selfish to even think about it. Plus I had just landed a job with a company I once worked for, and was starting as soon as I returned from the UK. Then, miraculously, three days before I was due to fly to the UK, I had calls from three of those agents. 

Over the next month each of the others would write to say that they were not even thinking of taking on new authors until they knew which was the wind was blowing with regard to the publishing industry. I signed contracts with one of those agents within about a month of arriving back from the UK - and I chose the one who was interested in me as a writer, not the ones who were just looking for someone who might be the next big thing. Amy (Rennert) was the only one who asked me, “How do you see yourself growing as a writer.” And I thought then that she would be the one who would support me in my desire to be the best writer I could be. Because it was coming up to the end of the year (and the book needed revising!), Amy said she would not go out to publishers until February at the earliest. She started her “push” with the manuscript in March 2002. The book was sold in April 2002 - and not to the highest bidder. I took Amy’s advice, which was sound - she said that it would be too easy to go with the big publisher offering the bigger bucks, but as a new author especially, I could get “lost” among the big name authors. It would be easy to become overwhelmed, plus if the book crashed and burned, that would be my career, in tatters. The smaller publisher would also be able to publish the book sooner. “Maisie Dobbs” was published in June 2003 by SOHO press. But there is more to the story. Coincidentally, I had just read an article in Poets and Writers magazine, where very well-known authors were asked what they thought was the best way to publish a first novel - big publisher with big splash? Small publisher? A few declined to be named, but to a person they concluded that if you could pull it off, it was best for a first time author to publish the hardback with a small outfit, where there was personal attention and you were nurtured as an author, but then have the paperback rights picked up by a major publisher. I had that in the back of my mind when my agent told me there as an auction in progress for the paperback rights to Maisie Dobbs. Those rights went to Penguin, which was great, because they were marketing heavyweights. I think it’s important to say that my first advance bought me a new laptop, that’s all, and it was something to get very excited about. I knew I had decided upon an agent who I believed would be good for me over the long haul - and I made a good decision. The series has grown slowly but surely, though I was lucky when that first novel garnered so much attention, and was nominated for 7 awards, including the Edgar for Best Novel (I could not be nominated for Best First, as I wasn’t a US citizen).

I know I was so very fortunate in this almost “textbook” path to being published within the traditional publishing framework. Everything seemed to slot in at the right time. But I did my homework before I pitched - I had no personal contacts, so I had to do my due diligence. I did not just send out to agents without doing some pretty in-depth research, and I was thoughtful about my proposal, making sure it was succinct, that it demonstrated someone who was ready to be a professional writer, and one who would work hard - not only on the book itself, but in making it a success. But according to Amy, here’s what sold her - the cover letter. It was that second paragraph, when I wrote about my grandfather and his wounding in the Great War, and when I wrote about my grandmother working in a munitions factory - she said there was an emotional resonance that was hard to ignore. And all the other stuff I researched and wrote? Not wasted, because it made her job easier - it gave her plenty of material for her pitch to publishers.  

Unraveling my family history

Patty here…

My mother was from a close-knit family of German immigrants who came to the U.S. before 1900 from various German villages in what was then called South Russia but is now Ukraine. Catherine the Great, Czarina of Russia, who was German, invited her fellow country(wo)men to establish villages in Russia's outlying territories. My family heeded the call, with mixed results, I might add. For the most part, I know all the players in my mother’s family, because she and my grandmother passed down stories and a German Bible inscribed with all the births, deaths and marriages.

Kate the Great

Unraveling details of my father’s side of the family is a murkier task. His early life was fractured by a tragedy that separated him from his parents and siblings. He was sixteen when he began to search for information about what had happened, finding some details but not all of them. As an adult, he continued to write letters, search the LDS family library in Salt Lake City, and travel to cities and towns where his family had lived, hoping to find someone who knew them. Some of the data he found was incorrect or could not be verified; some was not what he expected to find. I helped him search, mostly as a way to strengthen our father-daughter bond. After he died, I stopped looking.

Recently, I was cleaning out a closet and came across a box of letters, replying to my dad’s long-ago inquiries. During my prior genealogy search, I had become frustrated by several family names that simply stopped. As diligently as I’d searched, I could not trace them back to the previous generation. One was my great grandmother, Emeline/Emaline/Emiline McCoy. I found her father and her grandfather, who was born in 1796, but nobody prior to that. I wanted to know their country of origin.

Flag of Ireland

I love a good mystery, so I began sorting through the letters. What I found inspired me to resume the search my dad and I had started so many years before. After overcoming some skepticism, I subscribed to Ancestry-dot-com, and found the information available is somewhat overwhelming.

All the names in my dad’s family tree are WASPy, although there may have been a Catholic or two thrown into the mix. Based on the history of the name Smiley, I suspected the family had come from the lowlands of Scotland or Northern Ireland.

Scottish flag

Once I entered the name of my 3-times great grandmother, I tapped into research already done by other people, and found an ancestor who was born in London in 1609 and who immigrated to Plymouth, Massachusetts on either the ship Anne or Little James in 1623, just three years after the Mayflower. My ancestor, Ralph Wallen, owned several pieces of property in Plymouth, including a house and garden at Hob’s Hole and land along the Eel River called “Wallen’s Well.”

Sailing to Plymouth

In the United State Revolutionary War service records, I found another member of that family who served as a seaman in the Navy during the Revolutionary War on a ship called Liberty. I'm a sailor, so I felt a definite kinship with him.

Me in my foulies

I realize some people don’t give a rip where their ancestors came from, but I find it not only fascinating, but also poignant to know that my people tilled the soil of a garden in Plymouth or sailed on a warship called Liberty. And now, thanks to fellow genealogy travelers, I have FINALLY located the next generation in the Emaline McCoy saga and look forward to following it wherever it leads me.

HAPPY MONDAY!

Christmas Over There

from Jacqueline

Well, three hours in the emergency room (or Accident & Emergency - “A&E” - as they call it in the UK) of the local hospital is not exactly how one wants to spend Christmas Eve.  I joked with my husband that my mother had deliberately slipped on the doorstep so he could experience the National Health Service up close and personal, but seeing as he had been in the country less than 24 hours at that point, my quip fell a bit flat. First of all though, before you ask - my mother is doing fine now - no broken bones, though she would probably be doing better if she followed doctor’s orders and rested.  But here was my husband’s assessment of his brush with the NHS, “It’s pretty much the same as being in the emergency room in the States - you sometimes have to wait a while, and everyone waiting is anxious about their own health or the health of someone else.  The only main difference is that in the States, pretty much everyone is wondering how much the whole thing will cost, and how they’re going to pay for it!”

My mother was seen by a triage nurse first, then another nurse came to take her for an x-ray, after which she saw the doctor, who gave her instructions (rest!) and prescribed pain meds, but also said he was sending the occupational therapist down to see her.  Though we had to wait for the occupational therapist on duty to finish with another patient, she soon came along holding a brand new walking frame for my mother, and did not let us leave until the frame was mastered. “How much would this visit have cost in the USA?” asked my mother.  Based upon my own recent experiences of my local ER here in California, I replied, “I daren’t even think about it."

My mother lives close to Rye in Sussex, and (for US readers) if you don’t know much about it, chances are you will soon - if the new TV adaptation of E. F. Benson’s Mapp and Lucia comes to the USA.  

The fictional town of Tilling is a very thinly disguised Rye, where Benson lived between the wars. I love Rye, and have spent hours on end in the town at every opportunity since childhood. The cobbled streets, small shops, galleries and beamed cottages all conspired to draw me in. I once lived in the Old Town in Hastings, in a house built in 1450 and very similar to many of those on Mermaid Street in Rye, where we stayed at Jeakes House, a small hotel just oozing character.

Jeakes House is the perfect retreat for a writer, with each room named for a famous author who had visited when the house was privately owned by the American writer/poet, Conrad Aiken - in fact, we stayed in the Aiken Suite, the uppermost room, which I really enjoyed, not least because it had a window seat with a view out towards the Romney Marshes.  I love window seats. I’m not sure why, but I think it started with the illustrated copy of Little Women I was given as a child.  I can remember a line drawing of my heroine, Jo, sitting on a window seat with a book in her hand.  I wanted to be Jo, and I wanted a window seat and whatever book she was reading.  And the window seat at Jeakes House was perfect, because I have also loved the Romney Marshes since I was a child, captivated by the dark smugglers tales of Doctor Syn by Russell Thorndike.  Of course, smuggling still goes on in those parts - though over the years the rum, spices and silks of medieval smugglers have been replaced by hard drugs, and more recently, human cargo.

I picked up my mother and brought her to Jeakes House for breakfast on Christmas morning - and it was a very good start to the day.  A huge Christmas tree graced the dining room, and it was not long before Santa made an entrance, bells and all.  And what a great Santa he was too!  We discovered later that Santa was a local fireman - apparently the firemen of Rye don their red coats and white beards to do Santa appearances at local venues, with all remuneration for their work going to charity. God Bless ‘em, every one!

We had Christmas dinner at The Mermaid - another former haunt of smugglers in days of yore, though I am sure there were no 6-course dinners with champagne served in those days. A secret staircase leads from one of the bedrooms back down to the bar.  I stayed in that room once, many years ago - never ventured down that staircase though.  Pity, it could have been fun!

But here’s the loveliest thing I saw first thing on Chistmas morning, as I walked up Mermaid Street after parking my car - a little boy, still wearing his onesie pajamas, came running down the street towards me.  His red woolen dressing gown ballooned out behind him like superman’s cape, and his slippers slapped against the cobblestones as he sped past me.  He was giggling, holding a teddy bear in one hand and a Christmas stocking in the other. I wished him merry Christmas, and he returned the greeting. I wondered what a boy so young was doing, rushing around on a cold Christmas morn as seagulls wheeled overhead, and I imagined that perhaps his grandparents lived nearby, and he was off to their house, ready to run into their arms, his little cold nose and red cheeks seeking the warmth of their faces as he was scooped up with love.

Here’s what else we did “over there” -  for our three days in London I scored great seats for War Horse at the New London Theater on Drury Lane (the second time around for me); we visited the Sherlock Holmes exhibit at The Museum of London - fantastic, followed by a walk across the Millenium Bridge and a tour of The Globe theater.  Breakfast at The Wolesley on Piccadilly (originally built as the showroom for Wolesley motors in the early 1920’s) was a treat, followed by an hour or so meandering around Hatchards, the UK’s oldest bookshop, founded in 1797 - oh, I defy anyone to come out without a book!!  We then made our way to the new remodeled Imperial War Museum (my second visit since the reopening, so at least I knew where I was going this time), and finally rounded off the sojourn in London with the loud, wonderful, energetic stage production, The Commitments - I was dancing as I left the theater!

Oh, and I forgot to tell you about seeing off the Boxing Day Hunt in Tenterden, Kent. Never mind, just whip along to this link (and sorry, I have tried and failed to upload the video to this page, so perhaps you can cut and paste the link).  Watch for the small girl with her mother at the end - heaven only knows how that child and her pony made it over the hedges!:  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDVCUrGGTrk&feature=youtu.be

When the events of Christmas 2014 are consigned to the memory box that resides in my heart, I think it was the little boy in his onesie on a cold morning in Rye that will stay with me - for in that boy’s face, filled with excitement and joy, I felt the spirit of the season, of Christmases past coming together with the magic of a special day spent with those I love, and it filled me with a warmth no winter chill could extinguish.

Here's wishing you all a good 2015.  May you be blessed.

Until next time ....

Another Holiday

James O. Born


The tradition of posting funny photos on a holiday continues.  Let's call it the tradition of the lazy.  If all goes well, I am either quite ill, sleeping late or nursing a vicious headache.  Under any circumstance, finding a few humorous photos and posting them is a hell of a lot easier than composing a post about how to write a novel.

I will get back on the job next week.  Or at least find someone who will get on the job for me.

Happy new year,

Jim Born