I have developed something of an addiction for Alison Morton’s books. If you haven’t read them yet, I can assure you you’re in for a great read, even if my adrenaline levels still have to drop after my recent read of the third book in the series. Anyway; today, Ms Morton – as kick-ass in […]
When Barbara Gaskell Denvil asked me if I wanted to participate in the Next Big Thing ”bloghop”, I was thrilled – and intimidated. Now the funny thing about Barbara nominating me, is that our main characters share a name. Her Alex (in Satin Cinnabar) is a man attempting to find his feet in a society
My Next Big Thing – religious conflict in Lowland Scotland Read More »
There’s a poem by Swedish Nobel Laureate Pär Lagerkvist that deals with death and afterlife, in which he rather sadly states that “soon it will all be taken from me; the trees, the clouds, the ground upon which I tread. I will wander on alone, leaving not the slightest trace.” But people do leave imprints
I have a very good friend – my best friend – who alternates between laughing at my lack of technical acumen and making snarky comments about it. Constantly connected to her entire life through her mobile, she does mails, facebook, twitter, maps, weather forecasts, metric conversions, updates on daughters, on man, on friends & family,
Technologically challenged – a modern day affliction Read More »
Writing can at times be a most meditative pursuit. No, hang on; meditative is the wrong word. Writing can at times allow me some minutes – hours – of total oblivion, an experience very similar to that of being sucked into a fantastic book but the other way around. When I’m engulfed in a book,
At present, the glorious flowering of my rosebushes is coming to an end. Where just a week ago the roses were pert and full, now they droop and fade, petals falling like gentle snow to collect on the ground below them. My mock orange is the same; the boughs are no longer quite as heavy
“Damn him!” I slam the table so hard my hand hurts. “How can he do that? Bloody idiot of a man!” I go on, muttering a number of creative expletives before returning to my editing. “You wrote that,” my husband protests mildly from his side of the table. “And will you stop whacking at the
In this rather hectic world of ours, now and then one will hear parents talking about quality time with their kids. “Yes, I only see them for like one hour before they have to go to bed, but it’s quality time, you know?” Hmm. As an experienced mother, I’m sorry to tell you it doesn’t
When I was a child, I was seriously angry at my parents for being something as boring as Swedish. Why couldn’t they be Norsemen, Turks, English, or joy of joys, Scottish? (Okay; so I had a major hang up on Robert Bruce from a very early age. Put it down to an enthusiastic history teacher.)
Magpies, according to tradition, are thieving birds that have a particular fondness for anything that glitters. My grandmother would tell me it was a known fact a magpie could make off with a silver spoon or so, using it to decorate its nest. Hmm. Have you seen a magpie’s nest? Not the most elegant construction