From under the piles of stuff

Like a mole I've come out blinking and shrugging and realise that over a year has gone by without me noticing it. How on earth did that happen? Anyone's guess, I suppose. Being busy is my usual excuse so I'll stick to that because, folks, it's true!  Travelling, singing, running workshops, writing songs, writing stories, shovelling away rejection emails. You know what, it was much easier when rejections were just bits of paper smacking the mat. Now it's cheery emails. Ever tried shovelling away cheery emails that aren't cheery at all? Even a mole can't do that. Anyway. Not to be discouraged I'm working on a number of things, from picture book texts for wee ones to novels for older ones with bits and pieces in between.  Birds are featuring largely. Not sure why except our garden is full of bird feeders. If my husband puts up any more we'll have a forest.  Our feathered pals do get themselves into all sorts of scrapes, I've noticed, watching them while I'm thinking through stories. Some even fly themselves into my stories. Now, though I don't profess to know so very much about them I recognise a few and so can, with all confidence, let our growing bunch of little people know what the names are.  On the subject of little people, our lovelies surprise and delight me at every turn but especially when they want to hear one of my stories. 'We can't sleep without a story out of your head,' they say. Of course it's a ruse, after three stories from books, and I'm on my knees wishing they'd close their eyes, yet, blinking and shrugging, I snuggle up and tell them something from my head. Sometimes they fall asleep in the middle, sometimes they don't. Sometimes they say, that's a funny one. Which is good enough for me. Right. I'm off, under a pile of something. See you later.