A Mixed Misfit Bag

It's been a busy week in the Misfit house.  The teen turned 19 and my cousin and her hubbie came to visit from Canada so there has been much fun and jollity.  Today saw me returning to the desk to chain myself up until my self-imposed 2K words for the day were written.

Here's a quick update on my week.  Oh, and be warned - it ends with a rant!

FORMULA 1 GO-KARTING

Oh boy!  What can I say?  The teen and Mr Misfit had a blast.  Me?  Well I simply tootled around the track, at an average of 16 miles an hour, like a nervous granny on her way to church. And the heat!  Dressed from head to toe in a rather unfetching BO-infused boiler suit, a beanie and a helmet, I was sweltering.  My only escape was putting myself in the Sin Bin so that I could remove the helmet and cool off.  The teen found himself covered in bruises as he has no flesh on his gangly bones and was thrown around in the kart as he swerved around corners. As each day passes the bruises grow and change.  We tell him it's the birthday gift that keeps giving!

 The teen pulling a daft pose.

Just as well this isn't a scratch and sniff photo!  The suits were ripe!

 His final lap

FAMILY PARTY

It's been 28 years since I last saw my cousin and her husband so it's been wonderful having them here.  They are both huge fans of my books and I was delighted to learn that I, at the grand old age of seven, had been the one to help my cousin's husband 'get' AA Milne.  He said it was the British accent that suddenly made it click for him.  Their lovely daughter is named after me and we keep in touch through Facebook and Twitter.  We were amazed at how many similarities there are between the two of us and also between her and the teen.  Families, can be spooky things!
On Saturday, our family got together at our place and a good time was had by all.

Sharing family memories.

My mum, me and my cousin.

 

THE SQUIRREL

On Friday night Mr Misfit and the teen came back from a late night walk and told me that there was an injured squirrel at the end of our cul de sac.  Being a bit of an animal nut, I headed off to see if he could be saved.  He was right in the middle of the road where he could have been squashed by any passing cars returning home or ripped apart by foxes (or our cats!) so we knew that we had to stay with him.  We managed to give him some Rescue Remedy (a herbal medicine) and for a while it looked like he might be perking up a bit. Sadly though, we suddenly realised that his leg was broken and there didn't seem to be much hope.  After willing him to live, I found myself willing him to let go and drift off to squirrel Heaven.  We called him Faith as we told him that we had faith in him and that we would stick with him to the bitter end.  Watching him die was horrible.  He threw his little head back in a final spasm of pain and then he passed.  The teen then decided it would be cruel to just throw him in the bushes and insisted on a proper funeral (the second one we'd been to that day!)
A shoe box was duly found and Faith was laid to rest with a gladioli.
Sadly, Faith was dug up again two mornings later and then he disappeared.
This reminds me of the time we buried our goldfish in a Dove soapbox and the teen, then quite young, was concerned that when he got to Heaven God would be confused as the box said 'Dove' and not 'Goldfish'!

THE RANT

I had drinks with 'Fenella' last night and I found out that she'd had a falling out with a Putney mum who had been rather vocal about me and the way I'd dealt with the teen's school phobia.  I was livid!  This was a mother I'd known reasonably well and always got on with.  How dare she pass judgment on me and my life when she knows nothing about what we went through.  As any mother knows, if someone starts to pick holes in your child you become like a protective tigress.
When we went 'public' with the teen's problems, people fell into two camps - those who sympathised or had been through something similar and those who thought they knew everything and that the condition quite simply doesn't exist.  So there's no such thing as depression then?  Is that what I'm hearing?
So, to all you Putney mums who feel you know me oh so well, I hope your boring little lives where you have nothing better to do than discuss me at your dinner parties are never blighted by any mental health issues.  Oh the shame!  Enjoy your perfect children as they grow and head off in to the world and hope that you never have to stand by them in the way I stood by my son.  I, meanwhile, will be the one having the last laugh as I know who each and every one of you are in the Misfit books and my son has grown into a confident young man, doing a job that he loves. And, do me favour, if you do have an opinion, say it to my face so that I can educate you.  But then that would take bravery wouldn't it?

Rant over!  As you were.

A Day in the Life of a Lazy Cow

I haven’t worked for anyone else for many years and for many reasons.  Firstly there was the birth of my son and I chose to be a stay at home mum - I was also fortunate enough to be able to do this because my husband was in well paid full-time employment.

Once my son started school, and it became clear that the stork had no further deliveries for us, I knew I had to find more to do with my life.  I re-trained as an adult literacy tutor and spent five happy years meeting some inspirational people who, in many ways, taught me far more than I taught them.  The main reason I stopped was because of the crappy funding in our borough, which constantly closed down classes until I never knew if my course was actually running or not.

But, as John Lennon so poignantly said, ‘Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans’.

I stopped teaching at just about the time my family commitments went up a notch.  No, not another baby but ‘stuff’ that meant I needed to be around just a little bit more - I won’t go into detail but between my mum and my son they kept me busy with ‘issues’ for quite a while and, in many ways, continue to do so.

As most of you will already know, my son’s problem was school phobia.  Had I been employed at the time, I wouldn’t have been able to carry on working.  I needed to be there to sort out this massive problem that had come from nowhere.  He now looks back and (thankfully) laughs.  He can’t understand, or put into words, the feelings that he had - but it resulted in me spending three years AT SCHOOL WITH HIM.

I look back over the years from 2006 until 2009 and often wonder how I got through them.  I guess the answer is, I had no choice - you deal with what life throws at you and I firmly believe that I turned (and continue to turn) a negative into a positive.  Because I didn’t sit in my car at the school and mope my days away - I read, read and read and then I wrote, wrote and wrote until ‘Diary of a Mummy Misfit’ was born.  Not one minute of my time was wasted - I was honing my craft.  In many ways, it was heaven - no distractions, no excuses, just writing and peace.

So from that rather odd start on my career path, and with some on-going commitments (my mum), I now find myself a full-time writer.

I’m not dabbling at this.  Not just sticking a toe in the water.  I live, breathe, eat and sleep writing.  When I’m not writing or promoting or tweeting or blogging or doing interviews, I may look like a ‘normal’ woman going through life but inside I’m writing that next scene, constructing that next dialogue.

So probably best not to say to me, ‘You choose not to work.’

Not really the wisest move, eh?

Because, trust me, I’ve had people say that and it doesn’t sit well with me.

There are many reasons why I can’t take on a ‘paid job’ right now - a job where I have to be there from 9-5 regardless - and the people who say I ‘choose not to work’ should be well aware of those reasons.  Sadly, they’re not.

So, as someone who ‘doesn’t work’, let me take you through a typical day and see if you fancy ‘dossing’ as much as I do to earn approximately a quid a book.

GET UP:  Do all the usual checks.  Book sales (not a best seller yet), reviews (phew, no crap ones yet), email (no TV deals yet), Blog (great night for hits, no weirdos leaving comments), Twitter (lovely friends leaving positive comments and willing me to carry on) and DM’s (thoughts and ideas from Twitter friends).

COFFEE - work my way through any interviews or guest blogs I need to get done.

MORE COFFEE - Look through yesterday’s chapter, make changes and re-acquaint myself with my path.

CONTEMPLATE MORE COFFEE BUT HAVE WATER - to write or to promote?  My new novel is calling me but I need to be looking at ways of marketing my other three babies.  Search the web for review sites and other marketing ideas.

DRINK MORE COFFEE and sulk for a while.

BACK ON TO WATER NOW TO STOP THE JITTERS - need to concentrate.  My target for each day is 3,000 words but there are many days this doesn’t happen.  Fingers hover over the keyboard and … I’m away.

CHECK SALES.  STARE OUT OF WINDOW.

RING FELLOW INDIE FOR A MOAN - Michelle Betham and I started on this journey at the same time and act as lifelines for one another.  I truly do not know what I’d do without her.

CHECK TWITTER - another lovely reader has left a comment.  The vote of confidence gives me a boost and I hit my 3,000 word target.

This process continues for most of the day and into the night.  I’ve sold more books (and made more friends) during my night-time Twittering than through any other means.  Don’t tell me Twitter is crap!

Then, when the work in progress is complete, everything goes up another notch.  Reading, re-reading, editing, formatting, cover design, getting the word out there.  As an Indie, that month leading up to a book’s release is a killer.

Fancy giving it a go?  Would you still tell someone they ‘choose not to work’?  I can honestly tell you, I have never worked harder.

I’m not complaining - I love every minute of it - although sometimes I’d just like to be left to write the books and leave the rest to someone else.

But - not working? - I don’t think so!

Leave comments, if you dare!