Category Archives: photos


This was supposed to be a writing day and I cannot be too surprised that I only dragged a thousand words or so into the net, but I’m not complaining. There were a lot of very interesting thoughts being pickled on the inside. I am full and brimming over with projects, and they just keep coming. Right now, the one taking over is the creation of a pack of tarot cards to use in readings in a book I’m writing about how to read the cards…so all of last night was captured by the search for the tarot people in my photographic pile, and then there was the manipulation and artistic doodling. My version of the Chariot is a dump truck grumbling along the expressway out of the city on a wet Monday morning. I can’t wait until I get to the printing and gluing together stage…I have even chosen the print for the backs.

So surprise didn’t catch me when procrastination dragged me into themes to change the look of the place here, and I found this lovely blue with the swirl on top, but it might be time to attempt sleep. I’ll be back with photographic evidence of the crafting. Meanwhile, here’s a wee link to the blog that covers the publication of an anthology of short stories including one of mine.




Tales from Elsewhere

our book

It’s launch day for the anthology, Tales from Elsewhere, which includes a story written by meeeee.

Once upon an internet writing group, actually there were two, some folk just wouldn’t be parted so we joined Facebook and set up our own group.We like the freedom to post rantings and creakings of our different gates, and have now known each other for about ten years…and some of us have met. There have been a few get-togethers but as we are spread about the UK and some a little further, not all of us can make it.

In September of 2014, thirteen of us landed in a Suffolk country garden for the weekend, and what a time we had, what with the talking and the wine, and the trampoline, and the wine, and the food, the talking, the wine, the weather…everything was completely fab. It wasn’t until much later that we talked (back online again) about a collection of work that might have sprung from notes we’d taken, or inspiration gleaned while immersed in the excitement of meeting each other, and spending time in such a beautiful place.

I was all about the table and chairs set out under the trees; that is country living for a city girl like me…even though I now reside only seven minutes walk away from Loch Lomond. My hermit life-style keeps me close to home but I do wander over to take photos of the water at least once a year. The Maid of the Loch, must be the most photographed vessel in Scotland, mostly because Ben Lomond is directly in the background.

For me, Facebook is a tool that works perfectly; it saves me time keeping up with family and old friends, acquaintances…and, has the wonderful accessory of creating groups. Gone are the days when artists and writers were alone and crazy in their garrets – now we can do crazy and chat, moan or celebrate with others without leaving our chairs/beds. I never thought I would do the meetings thing – my son met his old sweetheart on FB and they got together again, sailed between Glasgow and Newcastle, back n forward, several times before finally settling down in Tyneside and now have a son! But, when the weekend in Suffolk was suggested, I knew that I wanted to meet at least some of the people I’d been talking to, and had supported me through feedback on my writing. So we did it, and felt as if we’d already met. Facebook works for us.

And now, after a year of throwing work up to be read by fresh eyes, it was re-worked, edited…and edited again, until just right, a story good enough for publication, polished.

We have a blog here

That Time Again: Nano Nano

I’ve been lost on a postcard spree but am now calming things down to get ready for Nano. After last year’s effort I began a new project for this year, writing pages of notes and summarising maybe about ten chapters; it hasn’t been out of its cage since and I have no idea what it was about but I’m going to keep it there until Monday night. When I come back from work and settle down I’ll open it up and remind myself of the story and then at the stroke of midnight I’ll begin writing. As always, I’m excited at the start of something new.

I haven’t written anything since the end of August except a hundred postcards. It’s been a wild couple of months but I’ve had a brilliant time, choosing, writing and posting cards around the world…and receiving the same back. My collection is building and I’ll soon be able to set them up on the walls of my hall. There will be an alphabet section, one for art, handmade cards, sunsets/sunrises, cityscapes and ad-cards. So far I’ve received 60 – here’s the link

The one I can’t show is a beautiful but very naked man; trust me, it’s great. I suppose I could make a fig leaf for him. Actually, he has to remain hidden at the bottom of the pile in case my grandchildren find him…and I should be ashamed of myself for drooling over a man who looks young enough to be my grandson (almost).

Well, of course I didn’t wait until Monday night. I opened the folder and prowled through what’s about to be my new WIP. It took a while to find everything and re-capture the sense of it. So now I am quite excited about it and have been nipping in and out of the document all evening to note down images and lines as they come into my mind. I had sketched six chapters and looking at it after all this time I can see where to begin – and that’s with the sixth one: invisible editing.



On the Maid of the Loch sipping coffee, out of the rain that’s battering the cabin roof with Scottish enthusiasm. The light is lilac into the hills beside Ben Lomond. If only this boat could move but it’s a static fixture on the Balloch shores. I want to be carried around the loch by the power of the paddle, swishing past Luss with a wave, weaving in and out of islands up to Tarbet and Ardlui over monsters in the deep dark blue water.

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Across the way leather-necked fishermen sit in this flash of weather; they are the real conquerors of time management.

Slow clouds sit above me – will they won’t they move? In front of me the world lies in shades of grey, in blocks like glowering brows, a bright halo defining the hills…but they’re passing north and I’m free to walk again – that exercise that presses me on to lose weight, to be a normal fraction in this modern world.

The Maid might be fit to sail in two years if they collect enough donations and I might be fit to sail into a healthier life if I donate my time to myself; there are miles to go before I sleep, slip into my berth of cardboard.