Amazing, isn’t it. When you have something you know you need to do, you find something more important. It can be something trivial, like making a cup of coffee. Or something like, well writing this blog.
I haven’t blogged much of late, not least because I’ve been writing pieces for various journals and online sites at the request of others. And making the odd video. Not to mention being encouraged to do social media of my own to promote my two novels. Whether my various Instagram posts made the slightest bit of difference to interest in Homeward Bound and I’m Still Standing I have no idea. But I’ll doubtless be back on Instagram videos for the new one
Ah – and that’s been another reason for not blogging. I’ve been completing my third novel. This particular displacement is because I need to write a synopsis for it. Anyone who has ever written anything will known the nightmare that is a synopsis. If it’s taken me 290 (or however many) pages to write a piece that I hope is entertaining, interesting and engaging, then how is it possible to condense it into a single page? But it must be done. Just not at the moment as I’m writing this.
And what inspired me to use this avenue to waste time is I wanted to share a discovery I’ve made. Late, I know, but monumental tome. I’ve discovered AI. Well, ChatGP. It could become a completely new category of displacement activities all of its own! Here’s what kick-started my new obsession.
Take a look at this before image, snapped by me on Easter Sunday walking in Waterlow Park, which is north London and right next to Hampstead Heath.
I sent it to my daughter, and it came back from my son-in-law like this.
It made me laugh. More than that. It made me want to have a go myself. In fact, it became so much of a temptation for me, I wasted no time and began to adulterate other images take on that walk, using the same software that created all the King’s horses and all the King’s men..
I selected this sweet, innocent, springtime image, and imagined something altogether more interesting and ludicrous!
I have to confess to being somewhat troubed by AI. Can you believe anything you see anymore? But this tool can open up the imagination to all manor of things . And timewasting opportunities.
What’s more, maybe I can use AI to write my synopsis? Maybe I’ll look it up in Wikipedia and see it it’s possible.
But not yet. I’ll have a coffee, first.
(But look out for Made For Walking. If I get my synopsis and other necessary stuff done, it’ll be in the bookshops later in the year.)
I was interviewed by the blogger Ann Cater (‘Random Things Through My Letterbox) on publication of ‘I’m Still Standing’. It was meant to be my life in books, but I side-stepped that and made it into records! Here’s what I said.
Anne: Tell me about your life through records.
Me: You’d expect my blog for My Life in Books, to be about, well, books. Except, while I have read innumerable memorable and remarkable books that meant a lot to me, I struggle to recall that much about them! They leave an impression rather than specific details. Similarly, I can’t follow a season of shows on Netflix and remember what happened in the last episode unless I binge-watch – and even then….
But records? I can name every B side of every 45 I bought as a child and sing through Beatles albums, track by track, occasionally pitch perfect. And each one with a memory. That is why my books are named after songs – Homeward Bound and now I’m Still Standing.
Here is my life in ten records:
My Old Man’s A Dustman – Lonnie Donegan. OK, not a classic that I still play, but this isn’t Desert Island Discs. It was my first ever record. I’d wager that yours was something cheesy too. I still know it off by heart, one the only songs that I can actually sing without tripping over the lyrics. It’s little wonder that I never made it as a rockstar.
Runaway – Del Shannon. The perfect pop song. I think it’s the record that turned me from being a music lover into an addict. It was also the first record I put money into a jukebox to play. I eventually bought everything Del Shannon recorded. Spotify describes him as favouring ‘brooding themes of abandonment, loss, and rejection’. You’ll see a theme developing as we go on.
Won’t Get Fooled Again – The Who. This is a great one to play when you’re feeling angry. It’s exciting, loud and the lyrics visceral. And the tension in the extended instrumental break is almost unbearable, ending in a primal scream!
Jealous – Labrinth. A heartbreak song, but so simple and you can feel his pain. And it’s important as a reminder to me that good tunes didn’t stop in the seventies. This came out in 2014. (And don’t forget, in the sixties, it wasn’t all Beatles. We also had to endure Ken Dodd and Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep!)
Turn On A Friend – Peanut Butter Conspiracy. The lyric has always stuck with me as I believe it to be an impossible suggestion! You can’t turn anybody on to a record, a TV programme or a book. It’s just too embarrassing to try, as tastes differ and invariably what one person likes will leave another cold. Not a comfortable feeling when I’ve a book out that I want people to like! Of course, the song’s probably about drugs (it is from 1967) so perhaps I shouldn’t worry.
Alone Again Or – Love. I hope people don’t see me as miserable, but I do find misery in songs weirdly uplifting. But this one inspires me with lines about people being the greatest fun and how the singer could be in love with almost everyone, and that’s a great way to start any day! But even this one is in a minor key and has a melancholy edge.
Green River – the Everly Brothers. I think my love of music comes through harmony, and the Everly’s were the best. I could pick any from their thirty-year catalogue of recordings but nominate this later one as it’s about longing and nostalgia, more themes I love. I can almost feel the heat and smell wide-open plains as they sing. I spin this regularly, even though it’s from 1972.
Homeward Bound – Simon and Garfunkel. Harmonies and lyrics again. Paul Simon was influenced by the Everlys (they sing on Graceland) and his wistful, reflective, thoughtful lyrics bear frequent replays. Homeward Bound is especially important to me as it features in my first novel – they share the same title.
I’m Still Standing – Elton John. If I were a musician, I’d be jealous of Elton John. He’s not only a great songwriter, but also has an incredible voice and can make a piano rock! Of his up-tempo songs, I’ve picked this not just for its survival against-the-odds lyrics (and I really didn’t realise until compiling this list that so many of my choices are about betrayal, disappointment and inner strength), but because it’s the title of my new novel and why I’m writing this blog!
I’m Still Standing is available at bookshops and on Amazon
Here’s what people are writing about I’m Still Standing, taken from their Instagram accounts. My thanks to them for the positive things they’re saying.
A heart-warming story of a reluctant and unlikely friendship between a pair of misfits,
Richard Smith takes us back to the 80s as we follow Harry and Jill, a pair of misfits brought together as they work to save a local green space. Interwoven with the narrative is their shared love of music.
The author’s background in cinema comes through in his writing, as I could visualise each scene in my mind (Simon Pegg would make a great Harry!) and the music references provided the soundtrack. I really felt as though I was back in the late 80s, alongside the characters.
A moving story about finding passion in life and love with a music theme recommended for fans of Nick Hornby (High Fidelity, Juliet Naked) and Daisy Jones and the Six.
The first reviews are in for I’m Still Standing – and it’s getting four and five stars!
Blogger _clairereviews_ describes it as, ‘the heartwarming tale of a friendship formed when two socially inept misfits come together to try to preserve a city’s wildlife area.’
‘It was impossible to put down’
She goes on to write, ‘The vast array of supporting characters are a joy to read, each having their own foibles, which adds to the book as a whole. The smallest detail has been considered, and I was so caught up that I read the entire book in a single sitting. It was impossible to put down!’
Meanwhile, josliteraryadventures has said of it, ‘I’m Still Standing by @richardwrites2 is the kind of book you feel held by on a warm summer evening. It’s full of wonderful characters, friendship and community, with a teeny bit of romance added in. I read it pretty much in one day sitting on the swing seat in the garden on a beautiful sunny day.’
NetGalley, the online site that shares reviews and champions literacy writes, ‘The author’s background in cinema comes through in his writing, as I could visualise each scene in my mind (Simon Pegg would make a great Harry!) and the music references provided the soundtrack. I really felt as though I was back in the late 80s, alongside the characters,’ adding that it’s, ‘a moving story about finding passion in life and love with a music theme recommended for fans of Nick Hornby (High Fidelity, Juliet Naked) and Daisy Jones and the Six’, giving it four stars.
You can buy I’m Still Standing at bookshops (pictured below with me signing copies at a launch in Highbury’s Ink@84 bookshop) as well as boookshops online and https://shorturl.at/vsoBV
I’m Still Standing was launched with a series of videos. They were uploaded to TikTok, where the range of music is vast and free of copyright, so were set to big songs. It’s different here, so courtesy of Pixabay Music, here they are again, for non-TikTokers and with different (copyright free) music.
Sometimes it’s tough getting started!
Sometimes a good thing is too good to have to wait for…
And at last, it’s out! #ImStillStanding #NetGalley
I started this blog as ‘Praise be the KitKat’. How quickly things can change.
I was inspired when I ate a KitKat at half time at an Arsenal match. The team was on a bad run – the three games before the KitKat had been three consecutive defeats. But with KitKats, the season was turned around, and a long unbeaten run began. There could be no doubting the power of those four chocolate fingers. After all, it’s happened before as I do have form.
My first encounter with the magic of the KitKat at halftime was at the start of the 2003-4 season, and as I repeated it, game after game, the team matched me with wins and draws, never losing, going on to become ‘the Invincibles’, undefeated during an entire Premier League campaign.
The one match they did lose was an FA Cup semi-final, played at Villa Park. Walking from my car to the ground I couldn’t find a confectioner- or at least one that was open for the early kick-off. It meant, as I entered the ground, I knew the result was predestined, defeat was inevitable. And so it came to pass.
But for the rest of the season, KitKats blessed the team and they lost not a single game. (For purists, who will argue Arsenal lost matches in the European Champions’ League, that doesn’t count. It’s obvious the power of the KitKat won’t stretch beyond English competitions. Or the League Cup, for that matter.) The following season, the KitKat’s energy drained away, finally extinguished by Wayne Rooney. But I was going to have to give it up anyway. Too many KitKats meant I was at risk of becoming obese.
Miraculously, thirty-two years earlier, there had been a similar sweet arbiter of success. In the 1970/71 season, it was a fresh cream cake that wove its magic spell over the team. I bought one before a match (a cream meringue, if I recall correctly) to consume after, and Arsenal went on to win the domestic double of League and FA Cup. (Dave and Ansil Collins were top of the UK singles charts, in case you don’t remember!)
The one match where the shop had sold out before I reached it resulted in a 5-0 drubbing at Stoke. Otherwise, it was unprecedented success for the club, and I had no doubt what was causing it. Who knows what heights might have reached if I’d continued. But the shop stopped selling cream cakes and an Eccles cake didn’t have the same efficacy.
And so to this season. I was religious in keeping the KitKat buying routine once the team started winning, the result being an undefeated run. And even when it came to a crushing end at Liverpool, I didn’t doubt the KitKat. I put it down to my wife, who’d bought one for me as a helpful gesture, rather than leaving me to buy my own. I returned to the proper routine for the next match and the result was a victory, so my faith was restored. I knew that it was the change of routine that had broken the spell.
Except, now I know differently. In the two matches since, the results have gone against the KitKat. My faith seems to have been misplaced. It didn’t ensure success after all. I should have realised.
I hate to admit is, but I loathe the happy, grinning face on the body of our vacuum cleaner.
It’s worst when the cleaner (I refuse to call it ‘Henry’ or ‘he’) has wedged itself on a chair leg and I have to trail back to untangle it.
Or the flex has become entwined in the banisters and I have to struggle back downstairs to release it, carting said vacuum with me. And all the while, I’m being stared at by that unrelentingly cheery look.
The origins of the face are, according to Wikipedia (that source of all accurate information) to ‘prevent late night and early morning workers from feeling lonely.’ Created and built in the UK, it first started sucking up dust in 1981. If there were such a crime as violence towards inanimate objects, what might the incidence rate have been before that date and after? A sharp rise, most likely.
Described variously as ‘iconic’, ‘loveable’ and a ‘legend’ by the manufacturers, Numatic, Henry has been joined by other family members. There is a Hetty, whose contribution to equality of the sexes is a pink body and large fluttery eyelashes. Whether this subtle femininity would help me contain my bursts of anger I can only conjecture. There are also Henry’s cousin’s Charles, James and George and probably, before long, a Boris, a Kier and a Sir David.
Perhaps part of the problem is that the vacuum cleaner is only in use when I’d rather be doing something else. It might be the result of a three-line whip to clean the house, often in preparation for a cleaner coming. The house apparently mustn’t be too dusty or untidy for such visits.
Or it’s a displacement activity. Like when I’m agonising over writing a particularly troublesome paragraph. Getting out the vacuum cleaner to suck up a cobweb that’s been irritating me for months is one way of escaping the frustration of writer’s block, at least temporarily. But it means I’m already predisposed to rage. It inevitably erupts when, perched on a chair and stretching, the nozzle doesn’t quite reach, the face topples and I lose my balance, leaving me on the floor alongside that face baiting me., still grinning.
Perhaps the answer is a cordless vacuum cleaner. My experiences have not been good, though. Scarred in my youth by a Pifco cordless, a Ewbank, and a battery driven cleaner that neither cleaned nor lasted long enough to manage a rug, I am left deeply distrustful.
A recent arrival is an Amazon Robotic Vacuum Sweeper. Like a floor-mounted drone, it buzzes across the kitchen and aggregates an alarming amount of dust and detritus, no matter how many times the floor may have been swept already. But although spared the Henry face, it still drives me mad, demanding attention. Its apparently random movements and wild trajectories make escape from it like some futuristic game of dodge ball.
And if you leave it to its own devices, it’s quite likely to fall down a step or trap itself on some unlikely obstruction. Then, like an ostrich stuck in a corner, it will bounce endlessly from side to side until it’s rescued. I want to punish it for its stupidity, pick it up, shake it, except that’ll result in all the dust its collected returning to the floor.
But the truth is, I guess, I just hate housework.
And at this point, I was planning on concluding that I should acknowledge the efficiency with which these devices have the desired effect of cleaning dusty surfaces and it’s really all my fault. That the problem is mine, not Henry’s.
Then I changed the end and decided to suggest that maybe the manufacturers of Henry, Hetty and the rest could help me out by creating a different face; one that is responsive to my mood, offering me an expression that is non-patronising, sympathetic and understanding.
Then I changed my mind and went for an excoriating paragraph on anthropomorphism, that a face on a vacuum is entirely inappropriate. I’m quite justified in my ire, I was going to write. But then again, isn’t that a sign of personal weakness . . . ?
At which point, I concluded it was all just too problematic to find a decent end and . . . if I’m not mistaken, is that not a sliver of dust under the sofa? Excuse me while I go and fetch the Henry . . .
If you enjoyed this blog, maybe you’ll enjoy my first novel ‘Homeward Bound’, a feelgood tale of family, ageing and ambition. Available from bookshops, Amazon (paperback and e-book) and other online retailers.
“Two dishwashers? Why do you need two dishwashers?” That was the question the lady designing our new kitchen asked me. It struck me that if she was any good at kitchen design, she’d know the answer.
“Two dishwashers? Why do you need two dishwashers?”
That was the question the lady designing our new kitchen asked me. It struck me that if she was any good at kitchen design, she’d know the answer. But I could tell from the way she was staring at me, she was waiting for an answer.
“You take plates from cupboards, cutlery from drawers and glasses from shelves and use them for a meal,” I patiently explained.
“Yes.”
“When you’ve finished, you put them in the dishwasher.”
“Yes.”
My wife was rolling her eyes as she knew where I was going with this. Our designer manifestly did not.
“You wait until it’s full, then turn it on and when it’s finished, you take out the plates and put them back in the cupboards, the cutlery back in the drawers and the glasses on the shelves.”
“So?”
I think I hoped for a sign of recognition. Instead there was a blank expression with a soupçon of impatience. My wife just stared daggers at me.
“So next time you have a meal, you go back to the cupboard for the plates . .”
My wife interrupted. “I think we’ve got that.”
I needed to complete the cycle. “But with two dishwashers, next to each other, of course, you cut out all that unloading, putting away, fetching out again. You leave the clean stuff in one dishwasher until it’s needed, then take it out, use it and . .”
“. . . put the dirties back into the second dishwasher. I get it now.”
“Exactly. And when dishwasher two is full, you turn it on and dishwasher one becomes the place where the dirties go.” I was pleased she didn’t pick up on the one flaw in my plan; what happens when you’re mixing dirties with unused cleans.
“What a good idea.”
And so the dual dishwashers were integrated into the new kitchen plan. It would make shelf, cupboards and drawers in the original scheme redundant. For the moment, I kept secret my hopes for using them as overflow storage for my records and CDs.
And so the dual dishwashers were integrated into the new kitchen plan. It would make shelf, cupboards and drawers in the original scheme redundant. For the moment, I kept secret my hopes for using them as overflow storage for my records and CDs.
Photo: Kimi Gill for Islington Faces
What has fascinated me is that no-one else seems to have cottoned on to this idea. I did a quick Google check and could find no manufactures that have created a double dishwasher, though surely there’s need for a new products with a unique design in a crowded market. Nor have retailers seized the moment to sell two instead of one to every customer. I offer them the concept. It could be my small contribution to helping the UK out of recession.
Inevitably this has led to me to re-evaluate other ‘givens’ of domestic life.
A full plate and plentiful supply of a good red is one not to change. And somewhere warm and safe to sleep is essential. The sofa with the TV on or music playing is as good a place as any.
But if we must have beds, why do we need to ‘make’ them?
If it’s straightened sheets and pillows you’re after, why not do it before you go to bed rather than waste time and energy in the morning, especially when there’s already the tedious routine of shaving for men and make-up for women. Though I’d go one further and say why bother make the bed at all. The sheets will be crumpled up within minutes of getting in anyway. When the reaper comes calling, how much of your life will have been wasted making beds – smoothing sheets, hospital corners, plumping pillows and all? And if you really feel the need for crisp, cold sheets, tightly tucked down, then make it a treat to look forward to every couple of months when you change the bed or go on holiday and have hotel staff do it for you.
And don’t get me on duvets and duvet covers. I had an eiderdown as a child. It needed no constant wrestling with a cover, just pulled up over me at night. No-one admits to inventing the duvet but its popularity in the UK seems to have arisen as some sort of fashion statement, when we were in the thrall of Habitat and Laura Ashley on every High Street. And where are they now, though we persist with the duvet?
And then there are cushions. What are they for? Show me a house with cushions and I’ll show you the influence of a woman. No male that I know would even consider buying a cushion, let alone festoon sofas and – worse still – beds with them.
But back to my genius dishwasher idea. I’d put it out of my mind to concentrate on writing Homeward Bound, though I did get the occasional twinge about whether it would work and was I being a mite extravagant, decadent even.
I needn’t have worried. There was a late change. When the old kitchen was just a shell, I was informed that there was insufficient space in the new one for two dishwashers. And anyway, the plumbing couldn’t be adjusted to accommodate them both. I might have protested, but my wife and the designer presented the news as a fait accompli.
So we have a new kitchen but just one dishwasher, and I spend probably twice as long a week in the cycle of dishwasher-storage-dishwasher-storage as I do making the bed and plumping up cushions (though luckily I’ve never mastered the duvet, so that’s a task avoided).
But if you like the dual dishwasher idea, feel free to use it.
As for me, my disappointment was mitigated somewhat by an unexpected addition to the kitchen, one that required minimal space and no extra pipework; a wine chiller. And I couldn’t argue against that.
Richard Smith’s novel ‘Homeward Bound’ is out now and available from bookshops and Amazon (paperback and e-book).
A version of this blogfirst appeared during Rachel’s Random Books Tour
We weren’t allowed to use ball point pens at my school. The very word, Biro, was never mentioned. All writing had to be with a fountain pen, preferably using Quink blue-black. We also had lessons in how to form capital letters, and no essay would be accepted if the wrong form of ‘F’, ‘G’ or ‘T’ was used, or words were not joined up correctly.
I was sitting with my feet in a pool a while back, reflecting on life, and this early ‘60s memory flashed back to me. Having published my first novel, Homeward Bound, I’m often asked how I write; longhand or straight into a computer. My first response is it’s a wonder I write at all after that induction and suffering the tyranny of the fountain pen. But the answer is that once I’d been given a Parker for my 18th birthday, I never looked back and now I compose entirely using its cheaper successors – a Biro, Bic, or one of those freebies you collect at exhibitions.
Why I like a ballpoint is it’s so easy to write quickly and even easier to make changes, ideal if thoughts are spilling out of your head at a rate of knots. And if there’s an inspiration for later, a word that’s just come to me to improve a previous sentence, or a paragraph that needs moving, I scribble it down and add an asterisk, a box, or an arrow to signal something to come back to later.
It takes just a second and – more importantly – it doesn’t interrupt the flow of ideas. Add to the fact that I write on scrap paper – the reverse of single-sided photocopies or envelopes that held today’s consignment of bills and begging letters and I can add feeling virtuous about my recycling into the argument for longhand.
I’ve tried starting on a computer but, for me, it’s a slow, laborious and stultifying experience. I’m quite fast – a self taught two fingered style serves me quite well – but the plethora of red underlines and strange line spacings distract me, making me want to correct as I go, and the practicalities swamp and submerge the original inspiration. Using a ballpoint, the ideas can just flow.
There is a downside to paper. A puff of wind and the pages scatter across the room, a disaster when I’ve not numbered them. And worse, the speed that the ballpoint allows me invariably comes to the detriment of legibility. I’ve invented my own form of shorthand, with vowels omitted and words often just a squiggle between first and last letters. Their meaning is all so obvious as I write, but when it comes to reading back, it’s often impossible to decipher.
The answer? I don’t read it back! For the next stage is to transcribe my manuscript into my laptop and as often as not, I make it all up again. This is partly because I can’t make head nor tail of my longhand, but also because, having created a sense and the structure, I can recompose it straight into my laptop from memory. A second draft, as it were.
Once the page is on the laptop and saved (how many times did I use to lose a day’s work because I hadn’t saved my manuscript – and pardon me while I save this one, it’s still Document 29. Done it), the next question is proof reading and revising for a next draft. My preference would be to do it by printing out the pages. I find reading for content easier on paper, and making amendments using my ballpoint brings all the advantages of being able to scratch out words, move paragraphs and make comments to myself along the margins. But this is very wasteful of paper, even if the reverse does provide new scrap for the next handwritten manuscript.
My solution is to use an iPad with one of those electronic pencils. That way I have all the advantages of longhand and the sheaves don’t blow away. Then it has to be transposed on to the master laptop, but that’s OK as it’s yet another drafting and improving stage. By the end, I may have dozens of fragments of manuscripts on paper, laptop and iPad, not to mention bits I thought were good but left out, in case they should come in handy for something else.
It was one of these I was searching for just the other day. While working on my second novel, I thought I might be able to incorporate a section I’d written and left out of a first draft of Homeward Bound. I rummaged through a box stuffed with papers.
They’d been hidden there, away from my wife’s perfectly reasonable wish not to have every surface in the house awash with scrap paper and old envelopes. It didn’t take long to find the very manuscript I was seeking. Except I couldn’t read a word of it. Completely inscrutable.
But also in the box, an old school exercise book, with my handwritten notes on Shakespeare in blue-black ink, clear and legible.
I’m really pleased with this review/blog, saying that, ‘After struggling at times during lockdown to have a desire to read, this book was exactly what I needed to remind me why the world of books is so wonderful.’
With more COVID restrictions, maybe this will cheer a few more people up!
