Apologies for my absence

I am still here, albeit positioned somewhere between the rock I crawled under a few months ago and the girl you now see frenetically waving above the parapet, trying to keep afloat. Ok. So I could give a hundred reasons why I haven't blogged for such a long time, but for those who follow me (is there anyone still out there? lol) you will know I'm a positive kind of person and I'm not going to blog and moan and depress you all with my woes of the last few months. Suffice to say I survived my youngest and my birthdays, the divorce process, various flare-ups, Christmas, New Year, my wedding anniversary, our old Labrador being put to sleep, my eldest being finished at work, three weeks out with some variation of the flu, and Valentine's day...

Monday 20th February is Decree Nisi day. Six weeks and one day thereafter, I will be a divorced woman. I am back! Almost. In the meantime, if there is anyone still out there who gives a jot, or anyone who's found this blog because you're a wannabe writer, check out my band of merry, rookie RNA writers - The Romaniacs

As well as my friends and wonderful family, these girls have got me through the last few months. So if you are in need of some inspiration or support, check them out. I WILL be back... Until another day, (hopefully not too far away.) xx

Check this out!

Fellow aspiring author and RNA Member, the lovely Laura James, starts a new feature - 'Find out Friday' on her blog today, and I'm her first guest interview! It's my first interview too, so go and see what I have to say! Until another day Bye for now xx

We interrupt this blog with an announcement...

Apologies for anyone expecting to read the 'coping strategies’ I promised in my
previous blog but I have an announcement to make, a rather significant announcement for a wannabe writer…

Last weekend at the inaugural Festival of Romance International Convention I was awarded runner up in the New Talent Award. As someone who doesn’t normally like to sing my own praises, I’m sure you’ll allow me, just for this once to bask in the glory, especially given the year I’ve had.

Only a few weeks ago I didn’t even know whether I’d attend, having booked the weekend on a whim during one of my fight back moments. For aspiring author's to attend, one of the conditions was entering the New Talent Award. Back in August when I (somehow) managed to complete my first novel, 'Mother's Love' for the RNA New Writer’s Scheme, I received some excellent and encouraging feedback, but with everything else that has gone on over recent weeks, I haven’t got round to starting the suggested revisions. And so I duly emailed the required first chapter and synopsis of ‘Mother’s Love’ to Kate Allan, delightful author and organiser of the Festival without another thought.

And what a Festival it was! Superbly organised and executed by everyone involved, it was a joy to mingle with, and learn from established authors, agents and publishers, and to get to know better some of my AA (Aspiring Author) counterparts. What a lovely bunch of Romantic Novelists.

The backdrop of Hunton Park couldn’t have been a better setting, and I almost expected Mr Darcy to come romping across the lawns in my direction. He didn’t, alas, but I got my kicks elsewhere; in particular the session on Erotica versus Erotic Romance, which I’d never dared to even think about but now, especially as I’m a singleton, I may consider ;)

Dressed in my best Audrey Hepburn style posh frock, by the time of the evening dinner, Ball and award ceremony, the residual nerves and lack of confidence were banished by the half bottle of red wine I drank before going out. Thank you to all who kept me company throughout the weekend, and for those I didn’t manage to meet, we’ll hopefully get together at the RNA Winter Party

The awards ceremony commenced – a glitzy, glamorous affair with top talents in the Romantic Genre and Historical being recognised. Then it was onto the Festival’s New Talent Award, with agent, Jane Judd presenting the awards. (I’ve long had my list of top agents and Jane features in my top three.) Looking round the table of talent, I wondered which of my fellow rookie writer’s names might be called. And the first name out…

‘Debbie White receives the commended award for her novel, "Tough Love."’

I don’t know whether it was the fact that the title of the novel wasn’t mine, or that I was so stunned to have a 'commended' that made me freeze in the chair.

‘Go on, that’s you.’ Celia Anderson gave me a little shove, encouraging me to get up and shake hands with my heroine agent.
3rd place – the lovely Sarah Callejo
2nd Place – Rosemary Dun’s name was read out but the title of her novel was mine, ‘Mother’s Love.’Poor Rosemary had had to go home early with dreadful earache.
1st place and winner of the coveted New Talent Award - went to Henriette Gyland Congratulations Henri!

There was evidently some kind of a mix up with the author’s names and titles but it didn’t matter to me. I’d been commended, and for the next hour or two my emotions leapt somewhere between giddy excitement and pure emotion at how I’ve never given up my dream, and at last, irrespective of the eventual outcome with my first novel, I’d had some ‘proper’ official recognition that I can write. I DO have potential. The reason I attended the weekend was to kickstart my badly neglected writing career after events of the last few months and health problems, and this couldn’t have been better incentive.

Late in the evening I saw Jane Judd and her husband look as if they might be making a move, and fuelled by yet more red wine and the knowledge that if I didn’t properly introduce myself I’d always regret it, a wave of courage suddenly gripped me and catapulted me into her path, blocking her exit.

I shook hands nervously, bumbling that there had been a bit of a mix up with the titles, but thanking her for giving me the commendation for 'Mother’s Love.’

‘Is that the one about the Grandmother?’ Jane asked.

‘Yes that’s mine.’

‘No, that was definitely second,’ she said. ‘And it was a close second. I voted for yours to win…’

Second, fourth, I genuinely don't care. I'm sure my fellow AA's will agree, to be able to reach the top four in any kind of contest when you crave publication is massive achievement and big boost of confidence. For me, hearing Jane's comments and to get the opportunity to submit to her is prize enough. Needless to say the rest of the evening passed in a bit of a blur, not only because of the red wine.

Indeed I’ve been pinching myself ever since. I emailed Jane yesterday, saying it was good to meet her, and thanking her for the opportunity to submit the full MS which I will do once I’ve made the RNA NWS suggested tweaks. (I was also trying to prove that I could be professional and not a complete drunken buffoon.)Twenty minutes later she emailed back, not only confirming that I hadn’t dreamt Saturday night, but also giving me her feedback and the constructive feedback from Donna Condon, Senior Editor at Piatkus publishing.

With that invaluable advice, the hard work really starts for me, but bring it on. Everything happens for a reason. I always knew writing would be my salvation, and as I look back I see that booking the Festival of Romance weekend on a whim was not just a fightback moment, it might well be a defining moment. Life will get better from this point onwards, I just know it…

Until another day

Bye for now
xx

PS - Click here - for full details of the nominees and winners of Festival of Romance Awards. In particular, splediferous well done's to:
Sue Moorcroft - winner of Best Romantic Read
Jean Fullerton - winner of Best Historical Romance Read
Henri Gyland - Winner of best New Talent
Carole Matthews - Outstanding contribution to Romantic Fiction

PPS - All photos are courtesy of the wonderful talented Liz Crump - thanks Liz, and great to meet you!

It's a battle of heart and mind...

"It’s hard to tell your mind to stop loving someone when your heart still does."

I’ve read some great quotes lately, and another which particularly resonated was, "The pain of having a broken heart is not so much as to kill you, yet not so little as to let you live.."

Image-kateshudsons.blogspot.com




When the main holidays were over and the children went back to school, I was smacked in the face by reality, hence the lack of posts. I know you'll understand. Thank you for your lovely messages. They are a huge comfort, even if I don't always reply promptly ;)

Much of my limited free time I've wandered aimlessly, daydreaming, over analysing, and in between devoured the occasional self-help book as I tried to pick my way through the mess which had become my life.

But here I am, The Queen of fightback, sticking my head above the parapet to write this. As I type, outside there's a solitary swallow – probably the last of the summer, balancing on the telephone wire in the garden as it prepares to leave for a different climate. And as summer wrings its last few weak rays from the sun I’m struck by the parallels between the swallow and me. The summer has gone, and now it's time to move on to the next stage...

I’ve accepted my marriage is over, as surely as I concede that autumn means that most trees and plants die off to preserve their energy for the long winter months and to re-generate in the spring, anew. Start afresh. After the baby step progress I’ve been making, my epiphany feels like an empowering leap into the abyss that is the future. No more numbness; clinging and fighting, stumbling through the memories that are the past, searching for answers or to turn back time. It’s time to stop. Enough. I’ve had enough.

Six years ago, when it happened first time round I thought it was the end of my world but now, in between the emotional turmoil, I know it’s not. And occasionally I glimpse the fun-loving girl I used to be.

I realise I want to look forward, and grasp the future.

It doesn’t matter whether or not I still love him. I love myself more, and actually, if I’m being honest, I don’t love who he is now. The love in my heart is for the man I thought he was; the man he used to be. I’m tired of fighting for something that doesn’t exist any more; of analysing and second guessing what my ex is really thinking. With this realisation, I also see I’ve been clinging onto the past and to things that are out of my control. Any wonders it felt like I was trying to clutch for water flowing down a river. It's impossible to hold onto. The only control I have is over myself and my own actions, and its time to get a grip.

I still understand him, despite everything. Whether it’s just a temporary interruption – that normal service will be resumed soon – or whether he’s lost forever, I don’t know, and I can’t waste any more time waiting to see any more.I don’t want a man who lacks integrity, who isn’t as loyal and loves as unconditionally as me. I want inner peace and happiness back in my life. Its been missing too long. Every moment spent stuck on the past and him, trying to figure it all out is time wasted on re-building my life and future. No one else will do it for me. I need to champion my own cause, for me and the boys, so we can all strive to live, and move on.

We’re getting divorced. End of. I've filed the petition. I had to admit defeat. An unknown future is unnerving, but I'm not frightened of it any more, and I'd rather be alone forever than spend my time constantly looking over my shoulder, being second best, or waiting for it to happen again. It probably would. The best predictor of future behaviour is past behaviour, and having been here twice now, the chances of him changing and doing the right thing are pretty slim.

I'm brave enough to face it and who know's, it may even be exciting. In a few days when I have more time, I’ll share the coping strategies that I’m learning along this rocky path. Hopefully they may help someone else who may be in the same position as me if they are stumbling the same route and find my blog.

Until then I’ll leave you with a few more of my favourite quotes about moving on and letting go:-

"If someone you love hurts you cry a river, build a bridge, and get over it."

"If you can’t save the relationship, at least save your pride."

“When one door closes another door opens; but we so often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us.” — Alexander Graham Bell

“Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.” ~ Hermann Hesse

One final one:-

"No matter who broke your heart, or how long it takes to heal, you’ll never get through it without your friends."


Thank you all for being there.

Until another day

Bye for now

Xx

Image Kate Hudson Blogspot

I want more than this...

It’s been a tough few weeks of firsts and facing things alone.

One of the hardest aspects is fronting people but it has to be done. It’s sad - terribly, unbelievably, gut wrenchingly sad - but as the old saying goes, “Life moves on,” and I have to do it some time. The boys need me to keep going. There’s no chance to curl up under a stone to hide away, however tempting the prospect so I have to overcome these events and push through the pain.

When things first kicked off I managed to keep a distance from the bus stop parents by dropping off and picking up whilst remaining in the car, waving and forcing a smile. However, the school summer show was less forgiving. Only a couple of days after I'd found out, I had to brave the other mums and dads, and watch them walk around hand in hand with their eyes twinkling and smiling faces, I couldn’t help comparing their happiness to my life a few months ago, wondering what might be going on behind closed doors, and whether any of them were betraying their partners.

Walking into the school hall to see the judging of the Home Entries was tough. Neither Quiet Mousie nor I had entered anything this year. Despite our good intentions, we didn’t feel like it once events took over. Child sized tables displayed the categories; best home produce, best half dozen eggs, best teatime fancies, best flower arrangements etc…

I glimpsed the entries for the men’s cookery section but couldn’t bear to look at the scones on display remembering the hysterics of some of hubby's attempts over the last six years and the caustic criticisms from the judges; “Lacked presentation,” “Too much butter,” “Should have been placed on a doily instead of straight onto the tray…” His cookies were sublime and I'll never forget how we all cheered when we went into the hall and spotted the gold 1st rosette next to his entry. He feasted on his success for weeks but there will be no more domestic chaos on the weekend of the summer show in future with our family stressing and rushing to pick all the flowers, do the displays, bake the cakes, make the jams and finish all our entries to get them to the hall for the cut off for judging in time. And Quiet Mousie only has one more year of the summer show before he goes to secondary school.

Despite the emotion and spending all day with my sunglasses on to mask my eyes, I did well considering, and lasted an hour and a half then slipped away and left Quiet Mousie to go home with our lovely neighbours.

Two days later, sports day was slightly easier. I only cried three times and lasted the duration, although I chose not to partake in the refreshments afterwards.

A couple of weekends ago was the first time of facing the other mum’s and dads from QM’s footie club. I couldn’t let him down as he’d been looking forward to a night camping with all the kids and parents.

If I'm very honest, it was horrendous and I spent most of the weekend trying to keep my face from crumpling, especially when someone’s sincere words and good wishes touched me, or as I watched QM stop playing with his pals to check his mobile phone and see if he’d had a message from his Dad. A year ago I would have abhorred the thought of my ten year old having a mobile phone but hey, he’s over the moon with it and is in more contact with his dad now than he was before with him being in London through the week. QM is doing remarkably well, considering.

To him the weekend was a huge success and that's all that mattered. The people were wonderful and protected me throughout, and as they detected my fargile mood, they left me to my thoughts and solitude and let me continue to gaze into the flickering, leaping flames of the camp fire. And they understood when I chose to sleep in my car alone rather than in the dorms with two of the other mums.

Last weekend was the hardest hurdle so far. The annual village party, the one time of year when everyone in the village gets together, we all hire a marque and bouncy castle, each bring food and drink and have a merry time. News had travelled through the village grapevine apace and I’d had many sincere offers of support and help, but so far I’d managed to avoid people (other than my nearest and dearest neighbours) by simply driving through the village, giving a wave and a weak smile as I passed them in their gardens, walking their dogs, or in their cars.

As I pulled up at this year’s host’s garden and saw the melee of people and children, the kids on the bouncy castle, I felt physically sick and wanted to turn on my heels and run but my neighbour, who had followed me down in her car so we might arrive together geed me up.

‘Come on, or I’ll grab your hand and drag you in!’ she said, guiding my arm with her hand. Then Quiet Mousie spotted me, beamed and waved frantically, happy to see me and there was no choice but for me to go through the gate to join them all...

I’d planned to stay an hour then go and collect Idle Jack from work, drop him there and make my excuses to go home (knowing my neighbours would bring the boys back up the lane.) But once I was there and felt how my wonderful community wrapped me and the boys in their warm blanket of friendship and care, I actually ended up being one of the last to leave.

Along with me at the end of the evening were three good male friends who sat at a table, merrily tittering, drunk, cracking their juvenile jokes as their wives stood opposite, smirking at the state of them, knowing they would suffer in the morning and rolling their adoring eyes in feigned annoyance. If recent events hadn’t happened, my hubby would have been there, ‘one of the lads,’ his humour more juvenile than them all, and I would have been crying with mirth at the scene.

As I sat there smiling at their antics, I remembered the words that he said to me when I first discovered the affair;
“I don’t know when, but at some point in the last year I realised I wanted more than this…”

I can’t tell you how many times, I’ve replayed those words in my head over the last couple of weeks. And I wondered, how could he possibly want more than this?...

Until another day

xx

Farewell...my love...

"Living well is the best revenge," according to George Herbert.

I’m not there yet. It may take some time, but I will, one day, before too long. I hope.

Those of you who know me know I've been here before, and from a previous post will see I’m rather a master of resilience and overcoming adversity. Thankfully, this time it doesn't feel quite so much like it's the end of my world. I know I'll survive. It’s what I do best, and boy, after everything I've had in the last year - in the words of Monty Python, 'Tis but a meagre scratch.'

I jest. Oh, that what I’m going to go through in the next few months would be quite so painless. I’m all too aware, after twenty-two years with someone, this is going to hurt.

I don’t want to put on the worldwide web the innermost details of my personal life. You'll understand and read between the lines. Suffice to say; over the last two weeks my life has crumbled, and it’s nothing to do with cancer…

But hey, I have the best friends and family a girl could wish for - and you good folks - although I know you'll forgive me for saying that despite all this wonderful support, I can be in a roomful of people, yet still feel like the loneliest person in the world.

The reason for this is because I lost my truest, bestest friend about six or seven years ago. We never truly recovered first time round. It's not all his fault. I played my part, and I appreciate I've never been quite the same since. Then last year, with my jaw problems, I know I was a grumpy bitch being in pain. And this year with the cancer scare (although happily it turns out I'm simply a menopausal old bag.) What I'm trying to say is I know all the things I did wrong. It's just that I always believed we had a love that was so special, it would conquer anything.

But I see now, sometimes, love alone is not enough. Naively, I believed the amazing friendship we’d had (and overcome everything thus far) would win through every time. I presumed it was a deep bond that only soul mates have. I took that for granted. Our friendship wasn’t enough.

I wasn’t enough…

I’m not often wrong about affairs of the heart. I was this time. However, I gave it my best, for the sake of me, and my children. Even writing this I'm pricked by the knowledge that if I hadn't have had children, I might have made different decisions a few years ago and been through to the other side, onto a happier life by now.

I doubt it. I have no regrets. I truly loved my husband, with all my heart. I/We tried. It wasn’t to be, and perhaps, the one crumb of comfort I have to keep me warm at night in the vast space of bed beside me is that having been there before, I know I will get through this time even though it feels as if part of me has died. I don't have to go through the pain of giving him a second chances this time, no begging him to stay, fighting for him - none of the endless months of torture and heartache. Once I’m through the shock and initial panic of sorting out and unravelling twenty two years of marriage, I will bounce back in my usual, inimitable fashion. That doesn't stop me finding writing this hard, feeling so very sad, knowing how final things are and that my future will be alone. It's a good job I like my own company ;)

I’ve had so many people asking where I am. Thank you for caring. Those who knew what has happened have sent wonderful messages of support, and reading your comments on my last post, I felt I had to post this.

I’m not sure when I’ll surface again. I know I’ll miss the deadline for the RNA New Writer’s Scheme now. But I will most definitely be back…

Here's a quote I made up which maybe I should enter into the google archives:

"Don't despair when the person you love leaves you. The truth is, it's not your loss, but theirs, for they have left the only person who loves them unconditionally, and wouldn't have given up on them..."

See you when I see you

Until another day
Xx

Positive vibes welcome. Please

Tomorrow, Tuesday,7th June,I find out whether I have Endometrial cancer.

I tell you this because earlier this week, I watched a documentary about Joseph Merrick, better known as Elephant Man, and how he lived for his short twenty seven years with the terrible affliction of Proteus Syndrome. Speculation still surrounds his death and whether it was accidental or deliberate on his part. And as I listened to the programme it struck me how his infirmity must have affected him, living with it day in, day out, and I found myself empathising, understanding if he did stage his own death why he might have done so.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never encountered anything like the physical difficulties or prejudices Merrick had – in fact, the outsider would never know from first glance anything was wrong with me. But living with Behcets,an auto-immune disease means there’s always some new health hurdle to contend with and I can totally understand how someone who lives with terminal illness, or chronic pain or illness might decide they’ve had enough.

Pain has been my lodger, my cross to bear (or ignore) for the last twenty five years. There's always something. Usually it's arthritis but I also experience colitis, ulcers (mouth and vaginal,) or some other aspect or by-product of the treatment for my condition. I've had septicaemia, avascular necrosis, miscarriages. The latest development is some sort of vascular problem with my hands, feet and head which I'm seeing my Rheumatologist about in a couple of weeks. Six months ago, I thought I’d tackled the biggest obstacle with the jaw replacements and hoped there might be a little respite for a couple of years. However, it seems Mother Nature has other ideas.

I’d ignored ‘women’s problems’ (constant, heavy bleeding and niggling stomach cramps) for months and put it down to the stress of the surgery, perhaps my system lashing out, or maybe being forty four years old I was simply a menopausal old bag! Eventually, I relented to hubby's badgering and went to see the GP. As a result, for the past few weeks I've had all sorts of investigations which have found an enlarged uterus, abnormal blood and smear tests, and in between, you may recall we had to cancel a trip to New York in March because two days before we were due to travel, I ended up in A & E with crippling stomach pains. As I lay in that A & E bed, I turned to my hubby and meant it when I said, ‘If it is cancer, I don’t want to have treatment. I’m weary. I’ve had enough.’

To be fair the hospital has moved quickly and after more delving, a couple of weeks ago I had a biopsy to test for Endometrial cancer, the most likely cause for my symptoms. In my heart, I don’t think it will be and even if it is the ‘C’ word, the prognosis is good if I have a full hysterectomy and chemo/and/or radiotherapy. But do you see what I mean? I thought I’d come through one big, bad lot of surgery; of life being on hold, cancelling holidays and experiencing pain so bad, I literally used to writhe in agony on the sofa. If it's not cancer, months of treatments may lay ahead and if none of them work there could be the same end result - a hysterectomy. And what really peeves me is whatever the outcome, as sure as night follows day, something else will come along. It's the nature of the beast that is 'auto-immune disease.'

Hubby and my boys have years ahead to enjoy their lives. Do they really want to carry this sickly, relentless burden around for the next thirty, maybe forty years? And am I not entitled to decide when I've had enough?

NO. As one of my best friends pointed out, I’m a mother and with that role, there is obligation and responsibility to my children. There isn't just me to think about. I have to carry on doing what I do best - fight - whether this is cancer or just another manifestation of the Behcets.

I’m in a perfectly lucid and rational mood - I promise - so please don’t think this is me being depressed or feeling sorry for myself. I don’t want tea and sympathy, although some positive vibes for Tuesday might help ;)

I suspect only those who live with chronic pain or illness will truly understand what I’m alluding to in the above. Perhaps if you read this and it means something you might leave a comment so that those close to me don't think I've gone completely bonkers, and that I know I'm not the only person who wishes in today's modern world we had the right to choose when and how we might turn the lights out.

We all deserve to be able to say, 'Enough is enough,' don't we?

Until another day

Bye for now
xx