Chaos reigns

Dear, precious blog friends

This is just to let you all know that I am still here, still intending to keep on blogging and still intent on getting back to my writing. However, life, as you know, has a habit of throwing curved balls our way, especially when we aren't expecting them and at the moment, I am juggling a few of such.

I will be back and I will catch up with you all soon, but chaos is in command right now and talking of CRAFT moments, they have developed into CRAFT periods, if not CRAFT days and at the rate I'm going, they will be CRAFT weeks and months soon.

That aside, give me a few weeks to recover my equilibrium and I promise not to forget a single one of you.

For now, though, wish me well in sorting through the 'deur mekaar' that is life at the moment. If I tell you these are the South African words to describe something that is very confused and a mess, then I think you will understand.

Till soon! xx

CRAFT moments

Don't you love that expression 'a woman of a certain age'? I always used to wonder how old that was exactly. I mean a 'certain age' sounds rather romantic in a way, doesn't it? Try saying it with a French accent and it sounds even better  'C'est une dame d'un certain âge, mais oui'  (is that right? I can never remember the masculine feminine things in French).

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, wondering what it was exactly to be a certain age.

Well now, I know. I am that thing. In fact it's quite definite now. I am a woman of a certain age.

Still, I expect you want to know how I have come to know this?

Actually, it was all the subtle (or not so subtle) hints to begin with. Things young people would say like "there were a lot of people your age there", and then proceed to tell me about the number of zimmer frames they saw in the entrance hall to the event in question.

Then it was my students saying things like "Oh our stats professor's really old. He must be in his fifties now, you know, like you?"

They never noticed my pained look.

Then finally, the references became more direct. I think it was either one of my daughters or their partners who said recently, "when women like you get to a certain age, they........". I remember the expression freezing on my face. I never even heard the rest of what it was they were going to tell me. It was the dreaded words 'a certain age' that did it. That was when I realised I was there and I had to face the fact.

To young people, being a certain age means  that you are old; to slightly older people, it mean that you are older than them; and to tactful people of your own age, it means you are old like them but they don't want to mention it. Simple, but a tad humbling when you realise that you are, in fact, the last person to have realised it.

Still, it has certain advantages and one of these is having legitimate CRAFT moments. I may have mentioned these before, but being of a certain age, I have now conveniently forgotten this, because in fact I have a lot of CRAFT moments as a result. In case you too have forgotten, or maybe because I have never actually mentioned it at all (not being able to recall these things), a CRAFT moment is an acronym for 'can't remember a flipping thing'.

I have them with increasing frequency (if that's possible and not tautology). CRAFT can happen within the space of seconds. Someone will tell me something in conversation and within moments I am earnestly asking them a question about what they have just told me. When they look at me oddly, I usually remember what I have just forgotten and put it airily down to CRAFT. When they look at me even more oddly, I mutter something about pottery to cover up the moment. Pottery, potty, nuts. You can almost see the word association flitting across their faces, so then I just tell them with as much disarming candour as I can muster:

"Yes, my dear, I am a woman of a certain age and I can't remember an effing..oops, I mean flipping... thing. You'll be there one of these days, and then you'll understand the real meaning of the word CRAFT."

You'd be surprised (or maybe not) at how quickly they change the subject. I mean, it's one thing to label a woman as being of 'a certain age', but it's quite another when they have to accept the CRAFT that goes with it. But I have, and you know something? I don't mind. I am, (how you say), a certain age indeed.

And this photo has nothing to do with anything and I can't remember why I took it, but I like it anyway. I kind of feel it's me in it's chaotic informality, being a crafter and that  :)

Blogging is best but what kind of blog?

Sometimes I feel I'm a dinosaur here in blogland. It's either that or I see the tumbleweed swirling along its streets. Or maybe the gulls flying over an empty canal is more appropriate. It seems so deserted here much of the time.

I love my blog and have never managed to 'get' the Facebook thing. It's way too frenetic for me and I find myself running my eyes down the 'homepage' wondering what on earth I can possibly contribute. This place - blogland - is my space. I am a little sad that so few people blog on a regular basis these days, well, in my old circle anyway. Many of the bloggers that surrounded the whole Who scene which started me off have given up their blogs in favour of Facebook. I often wish they'd return here - we used to have so much fun.

Still,  I can't help but notice that anyone involved in writing and publishing is very active on the blogging scene. The thing I miss there is the personal element as many of these writer bloggers do it for commercial purposes.

For instance, look at this list of blogs I enjoy. I love Fran's Bonnie of Clyde blog for all those lovely glimpses into her life on a boat in Essex with her allotment, her recipes and the inimitable Pete. I also love Anne Marie's blog as she always has something interesting and gritty to say. Added to that there is Grace with her dogs and animal behaviour issues, Halfie with his English canals and narrowboats, Gina with her wonderful creative way of speaking her mind, Mel with his anecdotes and observations about life in Ireland, String and her fascinating eclectic and spiritual insights....these are my stimulus and my entertainment too. I would be lost without my blog round.

That being said, I realise I have to move in the writing blog direction too if I want to promote my work, so what should I do? Make this Vereeniging blog ever more about writing and reviewing, or should I keep this my personal space about life here in Rotterdam and the Netherlands? If I do that, I'll need a new Writer's blog for everything I want to publish, and this includes reviews, guest posts, short stories etc.

Those of you who still visit me here, I'd be grateful for your thoughts and ideas. I don't want to lose the personal side because that's how I started here, but I know that blogging for my books is going to be essential in the future. What would you do if you were me? I'm kind of inclined to starting a new blog for the serious writing stuff...you know, not mixing business and pleasure and all that, but I'm still not really sure.

For Jodie

Today, I have indulged myself by making this book of a children's story I wrote last year. I've had Jodie's lovely illustrations for a while, but was waiting for a few more before publishing it. However, other people's babies don't wait and Jo is very busy so I decided to make the book with what I had. I love it, and hope she does too. I'm also hoping the babies for whom the story is destined will grow up to like it as well. My image is always of Mum or Dad with little one on a lap being read to and having the pictures shown to them as they go. It's what I used to do when Jo and Mo were small as well.

The Horse that Smiled by Valerie Poore | Make Your Own Book

Mini Skirts and Laughter Lines by Carol E Wyer

Even the title makes you want to quote it doesn't it?

I have just finished reading this wonderfully human and entertaining book. It's a sort of Internet age Bridget Jones Diary for the more mature woman. Well, maybe not exactly, but it is a kind of diary. In fact, it's written as a blog and includes all the comments made by the blog followers. As the book progresses, the number of comments increases, and we get to know some of these characters too through both their sympathy and (sometimes) impatience with the day to day problems faced by the heroine of the piece.

I must say I became pretty fond of Amanda Wilson (blog name: Facing50withHumour), a rather refreshingly normal middle-aged woman who admits to her worries about turning 50 and all the attendant struggles with wrinkles and other folds (or should I say rolls) that being 'of a certain age' implies. I also became fond of her taciturn husband and irresponsible son, especially when his world collapses on being dumped by his first real love.

Amanda is a social networking addict, not really having all that much else to do apparently. Her husband has taken early retirement by selling his business and spends most of his time poring over stock prices on the Internet. Her son still lives at home, much to her husband's disgust and gives them both headaches with his attitude towards life, money and his parents. Even so, Amanda doesn't have a job, and apart from keeping the house, looking out for son Tom, and trying her best to find hobbies to drag Phil, her husband, out of his morose world of falling stocks and shares, her time is spent blogging, playing Facebook games and looking for ways to fight the flab, wrinkles and other signs of age that beset her as she approaches 50. If there is anything that bothered me at all about the book, it is that in some respects, life seems a bit pointless for all of them.

Of course, there is more to it than this, and Amanda faces a number of dilemmas, one of which is how to deal with the increasingly flirtatious attentions of an old flame who she plays Facebook Scrabble with. Another problem is her feisty mother, who at seventy something, seems hell bent on going out, partying and getting drunk - in Cyprus! I won't say more as I wouldn't want to spoil the book for anyone planning to buy it and read it. All I will say is that it's a fun read, charmingly honest and with plenty for the slightly more mature among us to relate to. Some parts even had me laughing out loud. It also has some good plot twists and in its format as an ongoing blog, it's very much a book of this age. In a word, I can honestly recommend it for relaxing weekend or holiday reading. It's available here.

To live in Amsterdam

Today, I went to Amsterdam. I do this now and then as I teach courses for the university there, but because these are mostly online, my visits are fairly sporadic.

I like Amsterdam very much. I don't have any desire to live there, but it's very beautiful and has an atmosphere that's uniquely its own. It is particularly lovely along the grachten and my walk to the university takes me along these peaceful, inner city canals. As I stroll, I can see the houseboats and 'woonarken', which are actually floating houses rather than boats. They're all a bit shabby, but you can bet they cost a fortune if you want to buy one. Especially there.

The houses that line the canals are also lovely. Tall, narrow and elegant, I've often mused how pleasant it might be to have a room or apartment in one of them. But in fact, that's not really true. These beautiful town houses that were built aeons ago are uncomfortable and hopelessly impractical. I do actually know this because I lived in one. Not in Amsterdam, but in Rotterdam, and I still suffer the effects to this day.

The reality is that every floor has impossibly high ceilings and beautiful, tall, gracious windows. Aesthetically, they are unbeatable - the last thing in dignity and class. Practically, though, this means trouble, For instance, let's take the stairs. They are unbelievably steep. They are also very narrow so as to fit in with the equally narrow buildings, and the treads are totally lethal: tiny, slippery and spiralling at the same time. Worst of all, there's an awful lot of them because of...well, yes, you've guessed it...those very high ceilings. The result is that almost everyone who lives in them has had bruised or broken ribs at some time or another as a consequence of having normal sized feet that do not fit onto said tiny treads. And even one of the five flights is a long way to fall. As I said, I am still suffering.

Then let's go back to those high ceilings. In my mind's eye, I see summer days with the long beautifully proportioned windows open and filmy curtains floating lazily on the breeze. But what about the winter? There is central heating for sure, but where does all that heat go? I suppose if you can levitate and hover in an uncertain state somewhere close to the picture rails, you might just manage to stay warm, but otherwise, life becomes some kind of constant battle of wits with the thermostat.

And then there are the mosquitos. I don't know who it was who told me that mozzies don't like heights, but they lied.

Dutch mosquitos are acrobatic high fliers and even if you cram yourself into the 'zolder' up between the eaves of the building, they'll seek you out in their lust for your blood.  This is of course due to the canals, which while beautifully calm to look upon, do not actually move adequately. They lack flow, in fact, and are thus perfect breeding grounds for positive legions of the flying, biting, stinging, whining, chewing, blood-sucking kamikazi beasts.

The other ludicrous thing about these houses is that the washing machine 'aansluiting' (connection) is almost always in the attic. Sorry, I meant the 'zolder.' Now we all know how heavy a standard washing machine is. I've just looked it up and I see that the average weight is around seventy kilos. That's a lot of kit to be carrying up five of these flights of unbelievably narrow, slippery stairs. Of course, it's true that you can always hoist them up from outside. There's generally a hoisting hook at the top of the facade of these old houses for just this purpose. But then you still need to to organise cranes and traffic cops and a meeting with the council just to be able to watch your washing machine floating skywards until it reaches the attic window. At this point, you still need some hired heavies to arrest it in mid flight and haul it through the gap left by the window that you've had to remove because the machine is too big to fit through it. Are you beginning to get the idea that there's just a teensy bit of cost involved in all this?

Lastly, if this hasn't already been enough, there is the inevitable battle of the bikes. Now everyone in Amsterdam knows that if you leave your bike outside for any length of time, it will definitely be stolen. There's no way of avoiding this - unless you put your bike inside the front door at the bottom of the stairs, that is. The snag here is that because the hallway is just not long enough for a standard omafiets, the front wheel has to sit at an angle. But then, the hallway, like the stairs, is very narrow.

I will finish this tale by leaving you with a thought. Someone is coming down the stairs with a baby buggy. Your bike is at the bottom with its front wheel blocking off most of the bottom step. There's no way back and no way forwards. Now tell me if you would like to live in one of these tall, narrow, gracious and elegant houses.

I thought not.

Anne Marie Klein's Behind Blue Eyes

Twitter is really a great place for writers to promote both themselves and other writers. That's my discovery of the year. I stayed away from it for ages, not really knowing what it was for or about, but I've realised that the value of Twitter for a writer is not the tweets themselves, but the links writers make to their blogs. Seeing that I am now tweeting with the best of them, it's clear I am moving in the same direction and away from the much more socially oriented Facbook, which I've never really liked. For me, Twitter serves as a link to this, my blog, and also to my books, and that's what I find really useful. I've always loved blogging, and now I realise Twitter can help me with that too.


Having said that, I also think Twitter is a great way for me to do my very small bit to help other writers with their promotions, so this week, I thought I would do a quick review of Anne Marie Klein's novel, Behind Blue Eyes.


Anne Marie is a long time blog friend. We really got to know each other through the blogging world and have supported each other's writing for nigh on six years now.


A couple of months ago, Anne Marie launched the first of a trilogy of novels through Lulu.com in the same way as I did with my first books. Inspired by, but not about, the Who of great rock music fame, her Behind Blue Eyes trilogy begins with Love Reign O'er Me, a full and complete novel in itself with some action packed 390 odd pages.


I have just finished re-reading it. The first time I read it was a few years ago as instalments on her blog, and it's been fun to read it again as I had really forgotten so much of it that although I remembered things as I went along, I honestly didn't know what was going to happen next. It felt fresh and new, which was great.


I think it's true to say that Love Reign O'er Me is like reading rather than watching your favourite TV series. There is so much action and dialogue, you can see whole scenes in your mind's eye. You learn about the characters through what they say and do and not from what they are thinking - and quite often what they do is very much in line with the culture of the 1970's - lots of smoking, drinking and plenty of racy sex  - pretty authentic for the time I would say. In fact, I think the whole style makes it ideal material for a TV series. It really is like reading a script only much easier because the story truly romps along and is a real page turner.


As I've said in my review on Lulu.com: "The characters draw you in, the dialogue is vivid and pacey. It's full of everything that makes an absorbing, exciting and satisfying read. One to keep you up at night, entertained on holiday and wrapped in another world while you're on the bus to work. I can highly recommend it."


Still, it's not all light hearted. Anne Marie also portrays in Ian, her main character, a very striking and sometimes disturbing study of a psychologically troubled soul. There are times when you want to cry for him, but others when you would like to shake him, and even dislike him. In the end, though, you find yourself sharing his life in such a way that you are willing him to succeed in fighting his demons. Whether he succeeds or not, however, is for you to find out for yourselves!


Well done, Anne Marie. I'm sure this is the first of what is going to be an immensely successful trilogy once people get to know about it. For my part, I'll share this review on Twitter and hope it gains you just a wee bit of attention from my meagre following. The best thing is if some of the other, more dedicated Tweeters, pass it on. I'll hold thumbs for you and for that!

Short stories? I've got plenty in store and in mind

A few months ago, I wrote a humorous story about a woman who realises she has to join the social media circus or else risk losing touch with her entire family. It was called the 21st Century Family and I published it here on my blog. This was not my first idea, however. The original story I was going to write was much darker, much more sombre, but I felt it would be too depressing for a blog post. The trouble is, I keep thinking about it and I really want to write it. Maybe I should just do it!

Anyhow, I had another idea for a story a few days ago, so maybe I will write that first. It starts with a girl standing at the traffic lights waiting to cross over. As the cars sweep past her, she notices a man in one of them. In that flash of a second, she captures a vivid image of him, which sets the story in motion. But that's all I'm going to tell you so I'll leave you to wonder what you think is going to happen next...

Something else that has excited me again is that I found a radio play I wrote years ago when I was in South Africa. It's called Cellular Fear. I don't know if it's any good at all as a play, but I thought I might turn that into a short story too, and then there's the play I wrote about two girls who meet on a train in South Africa and start talking. Eventually, they discover they grew up at the same time on the same farm: one of them the privileged daughter of the farmer himself and the other the daughter of one of the farm workers. Their memories of life are totally different, but the world around them was the same. Maybe I'll re-write that one too. Then one other story I wrote that I also found recently is one about a priest who rescues stray cats. It's kind of predictably sweet, but I really like it as a story. Seems I've got the makings of a bit of a collection here, doesn't it? At least by writing this post I won't forget the ideas I've had, which is always a risk with someone of my advancing years...

Now I've just got to have the time to write more! Roll on the summer!