I am full of good intentions; then the time vacuum sucks up all the minutes, and it’s a vortex of ‘can’t do everything’, but I am slowly wading through treacle and making positive headway.
The kids are back to school – hurrah. I can now try and focus on bringing all the loose ends together. The Grenade, now aged 11, has started a state comprehensive school. My old school no less. He’s loving it. I was anxious because it’s a big school, with around 360 pupils in his year alone, and over 1600 pupils in the school. I think there is so much buzz in the school, and so much energy, that as a child that can’t sit still, he can absorb it all much easier than most. He loves his uniform and he loves coming home at night. So far, the school stimulates him academically; but doesn’t stifle him. During his time at boarding school, he was met with a very conservative facism from the alpha males, who challenged his free thinking and eccentric ways. He stood up to the bullies, but recognised that their arrogance was unpleasant and wrong. He said to me ‘people at private schools think they are better than everyone else, mummy.’ Such wise words from a young soul.
The other day he came home from his new school delightfully declaring he’d been called a c*nt – as if he had just achieved some glorious senior school rite of passage. Apparently he was looking at the Afro of a black kid – maybe in yr 8 – and the kid said ‘what the f*ck do you think you are staring at you little c*nt?’ Ironically, the Grenade, used to have a ‘fro that he called Steve, which we were banned from cutting for ages. As it happens, he is pro ‘fro so I suspect had ‘fro envy. Nonetheless it can’t be ok for senior pupils to call first years ‘little c*nts’. I have reported it and I understand the matter is being addressed.
The Menace, now in year 2, is coming along better. She is still behind her peers, but, she too, hates school. Both of my children are independent spirits wanting to forge their own paths. Education is a privilege and they must suck it up.
Now things feel more settled. We have new routines with less screen time to try and migrate them towards greater self management. Life is calmer. Long may it continue.
I have started a new series of You Tube videos called – Conversations With My Kids please check them out. I am trying to have conversations with them about things they are interested in and I am not. It’s subtley funny. It’s the nuances of the collision of two very different perspectives that I like, but it may be too slow to be interesting to others.
My next book, now called ‘Looking For Mr Rabbit’ is in edit.
“Looking for Mr Rabbit” based on this poem, which I wrote before I met husband, and then believed in ‘soulmates’ and finding ‘the one’. The poem is about men going out on the pull.
Looking for Mrs Rabbit
Beyond the day to day rigors of futile life,
Their souls are searching for the one who is right.
In the darkness of the blackest night,
They hunt and prowl, and seek things that are out of sight.
Around every corner, unsuspecting they lurk.
They are not cautious mostly drunk and bezerk.
With cocks like steel they prowl.
At unsuspecting bunnies they growl.
Poke and prod. No one is safe from their dynamite rod.
These bunnies are naive yet wet.
Do they know what they are about to get?
Erect and eager they need to shunt
Their rock hard penis in her moist warm c*nt.
Post coital. They want to leave.
Get up and go and let her grieve.
” I’m sorry sweetheart it was the grog.
I thought it was you but in fact you are a dog.”
The book is a compilation of my writing over the years which, when combined, has developed into an anthology of my life. It’s the before and after A Modern Military Mother – Tales from the Domestic Frontline (available from Amazon in paperback, Kindle and audio). This book is a version of life events that have passed and some of it is guesswork.
On the 9th September 2014 it was the 40th anniversary of my mother’s death on Facebook I wrote this on Facebook:
“An excerpt from my next book #comingsoon in memory of my mum, who died on this day 40 years ago. “I never knew my mother. I have no recollection of her face, her smile, her smell. She died on September 9th 1974 when I was two and three quarters year old. The circumstances of her death were tragic and the tragedy of her death has served to mould me into the misfit that exists today. According to my nana, dad came home from the hospital and told me that mummy had died and was never coming back. I looked up at him and solemnly replied; “don’t worry daddy I‘ll look after you.” #watchthisspace”
The book so far sits at 120,000 words and now needs an edit. After the edit, I need to get some test readers because the various styles grow and change – much of it is written at the time of the events, so the rhythm and tempo of the book evolves as I mature as a writer. I think this makes it interesting, but I am not famous and these life experiences that I am sharing are not significant. I think, however, they are entertaining and will resonate with my generation of women because they are shared experiences. The book is simply entertaining – that is all. There is no greater purpose other than to entertain the reader. It is not ‘literary’ and it won’t win any prizes but it will make you laugh and I am definitely, truly, sharing my soul with the reader. I am very excited about the book because when I have put the jigsaw together, I can look back at my crazy rollercoaster life and know that I have lived a little and laughed a lot.
The question is do we try and sell it to a traditional publishing house or do I self publish again? I have an agent, who I think is coming up for air again. I guess, he can look at it and then we’ll decide if we think we can sell it. I’ll keep you posted.
I have learned since I self-published my first book that I can’t do this alone. I need readers to champion the book. I need a fan base to help me move forward. I know I have some solid support and I urge those who will read my next book, if you love it, to help me promote it by recommending it to your friends.
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