As summer continues to bake our garden, it becomes more difficult to find anything to talk about. One can bemoan the cost of the water with which we irrigate the garden on a heavy daily basis. One can whinge about the dry thunderstorms and the humidity immediately after. Or whine about the longing for an autumnal-styled day so one can work happily in the garden.
I’m not a follower of the crowd. Never have been. I do what I like without fear of fashion or trend.
I gravitate toward what sings to me. Whether or not it’s popular in the mainstream matters little to me. It’s all about what sets up a harmony with my heart and soul.
Sounds heavy you think?
Not really. It’s a kind a silent singing, or something that pulls you toward it.
Another Saturday, time flies!
We had to spend time in the city this week and so had three days messing about in the Matchbox garden. We trimmed the hedge that separates our townhouse from the row behind. It’s about 3 metres high and 25 metres long – made of awful shrubs that grow in weed proportions here. Things like the Cotoneaster Glaucophyllis and the New Zealand Mirror Bush which seed horrendously and choke our native species in the wild and our own gardens.
An identity change? No.
A genre change? Yes. No. Ummm…
A brand change? No. Emphatically…
This is probably a ‘dangerously close to being rejected post’ because it’s a late submit. I daresay all the northerners are safely tucked in bed, sleeping the night away.
There’s not much room for indulgent book reading when one is writing an historical fiction novel. In most cases, it’s all about research. Research, research, research. And my research books of choice are always mentioned in Author’s Notes in the back of each novel.
In terms of indulgence though, there were some stand out books for me this year with an amusing and informative one thrown in at the end. Here they are, in no particular order…
Three sleeps to go till Christmas Day!
Despite that it takes energy and exertion to get to that point, it’s all mellowed on the day.
By expressions of joy when a gift is opened or when a burst of flavour from something delicious lands on the tongue. When a hug from a favourite person thrills, when a brilliantly told yarn around the table holds the attention and then burst likes fireworks with the punchline.
It’s raining here.
Part of the re-emergence of a weather-system off a cyclone. Because it’s a ’rebirth’, meteorologists call it a zombie storm. It’s been gloomy and the air has been heavy since yesterday and about thirty minutes ago the rain began. In our case, it’s a soaking wet drizzle, wafting in sheets across the garden and driven by a north-easterly wind off the sea. It’s not at all cold but it’s what we call ‘wet rain’, a mist that sinks into coats, coverings and skin as if storm-driven.
We’ve known this weather has been likely for a week – farmers and gardeners getting quite excited by a good drop before summer really exerts itself. With that in mind, I took the camera while the weather was finer earlier in the week, so that I’d be prepared for SoS.
We’ve been told to expect a bit of storm over the next couple of days.
Today my latest trilogy is finally in print!
But before we get to that, grab a cup of tea or coffee and read on…
For those of you in the northern hemisphere, you begin the long trek through winter, something that always looks so beautiful from where we sit in the south. Snow bedecked trees, elegant forms traced in frost in the gardens. Iced lakes, rivers and ponds, toboggans and snowmen. The romance of a white winter.
Here of course, it’s vastly different.