People will stand amazed. And I ought to take pictures, not of their amazement, but of my desk, to prove that it is... how can I say this without sounding like an excessive swellhead... transformed. I can see clearly now the junk has gone. I can see all obstacles have been moved. Yes sirree! It's a bright, bright, sunshiny place to work now. A monumental task. Took a whole weekend. But worth it.  Just as well. Reading my previous blog and the omission of the word life from it, making the sentence it should have been in read rather oddly,  just shows how editing my own writing is a task and a half. You think it's perfect (or as perfect as it ever can be) but Lo and Behold, once it's published, the errors leap out almost smirkily. Editing my desk is a whole lot easier. On the song front, a bit more recording last night of May Day 1916. That song. That song. When it's all done we'll let you hear it, one way or another. I'll keep you posted.

Working on new idea for novel number three while my wonderfully perceptive agent, James, combs the tats out of novel number two. So working on something new which means thinking time. AKA looking around my towers of papers, turrets of books and the sea of wood that is my desk with its flotsam and jetsam. My desk appals most people. It's like my bedroom when I was a teenager. I could live my whole in that room and ditto from this desk as a supposed Grown Up With Responsibilities. Make-up. Bottle of water. Probably not drinkable. Magazines with my stories in, magazines without. Harrumph. Head phones to listen to missed radio programmes, and recorded bits of novel, printer, computer, hard drive, DVDs, pens that work, pens that don't work. Pencils with points, pencils without. Hand gel. Next year's diary. Two in fact. An Australian ten dollar note. Fisherman's Friends because of the sore throat. I'm singing on Saturday. Sorry all you dentists. What can a person do? Promise to floss. Yup, there's some of that here somewhere.  A book which tells me how to get an egg inside a bottle and back out = Important Research for Short Story Which Magazine Might Buy. Harrumph again. 1955 song book complete with chords for keyboard. Tub of elastic bands. Hand cream. Scissors which won't cut a thing. What are serrated scissors meant to cut? Cheap serrated scissors. Pound store serrated scissors. The only thing they do is look like crocodile jaws. A red glove. My favourite perfume. Just sprayed myself and the room with it. Gorgeous.  Train tickets for London. There's more and more, but, just for the record, no mouldy food or mugs with foam floating in the dregs. So I'm not a complete Grown Up Slob With Responsibilities. There's more but my feet are getting cold, sitting. So got to get off the chair and have a look about the room, find something to tidy up, have some thinking time. Keep you posted.   

Northern Lights Near Miss...?

Abortive trip to see Northern Lights over St Mary's Island at 3am today. Managed to miss it all, though we- which includes Jack, the Aussie backpacker - let our optical imaginations tease us into thinking we saw something, changes in the sky, bands of vague light, wispy movement. Tricks of the mind, probably nothing more. Missed it, in fact, by light years, or at least three hours, if other people's photographs are to be believed. Trying again tonight. Tomorrow the band play at BAA FEST in Bellingham, after a meet-the-author session and a chat with Jane Knights of Folkspot Radio based in Norfolk but in Northumberland for the festival. If you can't get there why not have a listen on  www.folkspot.co.uk
 

Working hard on book two. With my agent's wise words and suggestions it's becoming a complete thing rather than something scatter-gunned onto the page. But all of that work scrambles the brain and requires a break. So  took myself off for a river walk. Chilly. Autumn on its way. Great. Ignoring the bags of dog-do helpfully dotted around the place took  myself down to the fish quay and then back along to the Tyne Estuary. Low tide. The Black Middens trembling with shore birds. Up the bank to have a look at the sea and the benches with their little plaques. Found I wanted to read them all. Lived here for so long and never done that. Came back feeling as if I'd wandered around a cemetery, having wondered about those people behind the names, their stories. Rather lovely, rather peaceful. Brain unscrambled.

Brazilian Anthem for Jackson Dawes

Just taken delivery of this today. And if you look on Youtube you can see a trailer for it. I loved it. Made me cry and laugh all at once. Fab. Oh I need to learn some languages! Check it out below.

Uma canção para Jack - Book Trailer - YouTube

songs

So this weekend it's been hard at it with the song writing team. Colin, Tony and myself. We managed to produce a small sackful, in between bacon sandwiches, lunch, and restorative beverages. Hard work, I can tell you, but worth it. Didn't notice how the strawberries from a day ago had grown an overcoat of mould, they don't last long do they, and had cosied up with the red grapes, equally short lived, at least in our kitchen, and shared their fur with them. So no resting on laurels once the songs were done, it was clean up the kitchen, put out the trash, sweep up the crumbs. Rock and Roll.

All things bright and beautiful

You know, when all's said and done, nothing's so important as life, nothing's so trivial as writing, in the face of a baby born too early, trying to take a bite out of life to see what it's like. There's a teeny feller over in Oz, doing just that. He's one of those wee ones that come complete with hats and tubes and drips and nurses. One of those who live in tanks and under lights and with machines ticking and bleeping away in the background. And somehow, him battling away to get a nibble, makes the world spin a tad faster. My world anyway, and the world of people who matter to me. And over the last week, little feller seems to have developed a taste for catching a ride on it. And he has. So good on him. Time to head home and put some weight on those sparrow-bones and have a go at life outside the box.  It's not so bad, little feller.  And all the while, my book has taken a nibble of its own, with hats and tubes and bleeping things to help it along, and another miracle, trivial in the extreme, has happened. All creatures great and small.