An Outright Stonker

 Well, the good news is that I've finished the rewrite of The Death of Ghosts. Since I submitted it to Angry Robot that really needed to be done before they got back to me - which they still haven't, by the way. It's three and a half months now since the open submissions period closed. Maybe they like me.

 The bad news is that I've torn something in my bad knee. I've been limping for a week now and it's getting worse rather than better. There's a hard bump on the top edge of the kneecap which is so tender that the moment I touch it I start yodelling. I suspect it's a knot of tendon or something similar. I see the doc on Wednesday so just got to wait until then.

 Death of Ghosts is a great story. To an extent it's an old tale, the one where an ancient evil awakes and the poor people of today have to scrape together enough strength to defeat it, if they can. But I think I have a new spin on it. There isn't just a Big Bad from the past, there's a Big Good too, though of course it's not that clear-cut. At the end of Ghosts no one really knows what's going on, or why strange things keep happening. It's in volume two, for the moment called Mermaid's Purse, that answers begin to come. By the way, Mermaid's Purse is what people used to call skate's eggs, when they washed up on the beach. Google them, they're really weird.

 I'm taking a break before I start that though. The deadline for this year's Yeovil Prize is the end of the month, and I want to submit Isles of Eternity - and that promises to be an outright stonker of a novel. It's packed with stuff, scholars and mad kings, power-hungry priests from the temples of countless gods... and a people called the goat-fish, who live in the marshes and are said, in myth, to know of an island where the waters bring immortality. The story follows Mani, a sort of professor who deals with the goat-fish, and an insane king named Sarru-kin who wants to live forever and comes trampling into Mani's life. So I'll do the opening 15,000 words or so of Eternity, submit it to Yeovil, and then go back to Mermaid's Purse.

 Good thing I only work two days a week at the moment, eh?

 Mind you, being at home isn't exactly restful, with a 3-month-old baby around. Izzy's sweet-natured, quiet and alert - until you put her down, or stop talking to her, or lie her in the cot, and so on. Then she turns into the Queen of Shriek, it's most vexing. Still, she sleeps through most nights now,, so I suppose I shouldn't complain. And I'm not, really. Look how gorgeous she is.

 We're going to get her weighed again on Wednesday, for the first time in a month. My guess is she's close to a stone now. The way she eats, she should be the size of a hippo.

 Love you to bits, pickle.

Glad to be Back

 Hello from North Devon. Yes, the family is back where we started, and glad to be here. To be honest (making friends here) Yeovil is a pretty grotty town. It's really just brick boxes in one suburban avenue after another. Worse, even though it's home to a prestigious writing competition, the Yeovil Prize, there's not even a writers' group at the town's library. I asked and they suggested I talk to staff at Waterstone's.

 Anyway, we're glad to be out. I've found my feet in my new job, which in honesty wasn't hard, since it's almost exactly the same as my old job only without the stress and with only half as much frenetic work. The problem is that though I'm contracted for two days a week, I was told at interview there would be more hours available covering other stores, and that turns out not to be true. The company doesn't want to pay for overtime at all. I could have made three days' pay work, I can't make two days' work. Time to look around.

 Meanwhile, I've still not heard from Angry Robot. It's three months since their open submissions period ended, so by now they must surely have reviewed at least one of the three novels I emailed in. They're planning another open door period in 2017, which means they must have all the submissions from this last period dealt with by then, and the successful ones published. So they can't waste time wiffling about . I must admit I'm becoming hopeful. We'll see.

 I now have to ready an entry for the Yeovil Prize (horrible town though it is). I don't want to use one of the Angry Robot submissions, so I'm thinking I might use The Playground of Fawns. This is a novel set in a culture like ancient China, a place full of magics both real and imagined, and also packed with ambition and treachery. The story follows people caught up in a civil war after the Emperor is assassinated, and has lots of strong characters. Kun is an ex-army man who lucked his way into lands and titles, Lian a woman sold by her parents so they could feed their younger children, and Xiao an expert warrior who can't find commissions because he's an albino. I think there's a thumping good tale in there. I haven't been working on it because I have twelve million other things to write (slight exaggeration), plus enough events in the real world to fill five lifetimes (not an exaggeration at all).

 Some of those events now call me. By which I mean I want to read Zookeeper Zoe to my daughter again. It's the umpty-dozenth time and I would pretend to be weary of it... but I'm not really.

 Bye for now.

A Lost World

 Hi all. First of all, the first two Troy books - A Brand of Fire, and Heirs of Immortality - are free on Amazon right now, and will be for 3 days. Pick one up, read it, and if you enjoy it please leave a review. I could use a few more reviews on my page, they really do help.

 OK. Bit of a change from normal now, because I'm afraid I'm going to go all political. In the USA Mitt Romney recently said that he didn't want it to be said that he'd stayed silent in the face of a demagogue. Neither do I, so I'll do as he did, and talk about Donald Trump.

 The Western world has a lot of strong populist parties at the moment. True Finns, AfD in Germany, the FN in France, and so on. They've grown out of a disillusionment with politics as normal, a sense that our leaders don't listen to us. Trump is riding the same anger. But he hasn't formed a new group, he's hijacked one of the main parties in the US, and he's done so with open racism and bile that even the European extremists like Marine Le Pen avoid.

 The Republican Party has invited this. They've spent years whipping up fear and hate in their supporters, telling them the liberals were coming to take their guns, or deny them their religious freedoms. They've said voter fraud is stealing their democratic rights, and illegal immigration is taking their jobs. Everything that's wrong in America is because of liberals, they say, people who don't believe in the Constitution. Stand up for your rights. Refuse to comply. It's the politics of confrontation. And now they're reaping what they sowed, because here comes Trump, who takes all that bile and hatred and turns it on the very people who created it. The GOP thought they could ride the whirlwind. Now they know better.

 America is not my country. They're entitled to elect whomever they choose. I don't much like Ted Cruz, and don't much trust Hillary, but that's not my business. I'm very much concerned that if elected Trump will be my business, and the world's, because with his ego and boasting and bombast he's liable to cause chaos.

 All of this is by way of saying that I think compromise is better than confrontation. Jaw-jaw is better than war-war, as Churchill once said. You don't fix a problem by marginalising your opponents but by working with them. This is a mixed world now, one where most countries - in the West especially - are made up of people of different ethnicities and creeds. Someone like Trump is an anachronism, a dinosaur, yearning for a lost world that maybe never existed anyway. It's horrifying that I could put him in one of my Fantasy worlds, as leader of a brutal medieval regime, and he'd fit perfectly.

 There are some important elections coming up. The US chooses a President in November, and a year from now France picks a new President. The Front National has a real chance to win. At the moment I still have enough faith in voters to believe they will reject both Trump and Le Pen, and choose instead the path of conciliation. I hope I'm not proved wrong.

 If you've forgiven me this rant, and stuck through the blog to the end, then thank you. Things will be back to normal next time. Meanwhile don't forget to grab yourself a free book, curl up with a cup of something hot, and relax for a while. The world's not doomed yet.

 Cheerio.

A Teeny Twinge

 Caz and I have found a flat in Northam, near Bideford. It's modernised but the building is old, with thick walls and a well, of all things, in the garden. Covered, of course, with decking on top too. And a built-in barbecue unit in the garden wall. I'm really hoping for a good summer, spent eating charred chicken and sausages.

 The beach at Westward Ho! is about a mile away. So is the beach at Northam Burrows, and Appledore harbour is close as well. Sometime this summer we'll be sitting in the little waves with Izzy, helping her stand as the water laps round her feet. Isn't that sweet?

 Both Caz and I have what we might charitably call fractured families. The situations are similar but different, and hopelessly complicated besides. They've led us to the same point, a determination that whatever else may happen, our daughter will always know she was loved and that we will fight for her. We'll make mistakes - what parent doesn't? But they will not be the same mistakes that we suffered, which in honesty were whoppers. If our relationship goes wrong we'll work at it, and we'll make sure Izzy is protected from any hurt. That was vital to us in any relationship, even before we met. For Caz and I, getting married was only partly an act of love, it was also an act of trust.

 Heh, I'm a new father, and suddenly I run at the mouth about emotional things. Funny that.

 Perhaps this new emotional openness is why I'm getting jumpy about Angry Robot. The open submission period ended two months ago, and AR has been contacting contributors with rejections ever since. But they haven't contacted me. I submitted three pieces, one of them within days of the window opening, so it should have been reviewed early, in theory. And there's been no word. No rejection email.

 I can't help feeling a teeny twinge of hope about that. I know the lack of contact proves nothing, it gives no guarantees. But still... a teeny twinge. I have been so lucky these past two years that mere high odds seem a piffling thing. Perhaps the run of good fortune will extend to one more lucky break.

 Perhaps.

All Change

 All change for the Blakes. Again.

 Caz has to return to Barnstaple to work after her Maternity Leave is over. That's not til August, but if we renew our tenancy it must be for 6 months, which takes us to the end of October, so we're not going to. We're leaving in April instead - yes, another house move... sigh. I already have a new job as Assistant Manager in the Sue Ryder shop, for 2 or 3 days a week, which means I can look after Izzy while Caz is at work.

 It also means I handed my notice in to Barnardo's yesterday. It's a shame, because I've made a good job of that shop. I've taken it from scratch, a new outlet, to the point where it ranks 4th or 5th in the South West area, is deluged in donations and is turning over a fair amount of money too. And I did that in 6 months. Other new shops have had to close on some days, or have needed help from elsewhere. Mine hasn't. I'm proud of that.

 In theory this means I'll have more time to write. In practice there's a bloody great flaw with that. The flaw is 54 centimetres long, cries a lot and is called Isabella Lucia, or in the common tongue, 'Grizzabella Grumblebot'. I expect to spend a lot of time cuddling her, soothing her cares, or else taking her out in the stroller. To the beach, or the park, when summer comes. By July she'll be ready for ice cream...

 For no reason at all, here's a photo

 So anyway, writing. One thing I look forward to is resuming my activity with the Barnstaple writers' group on the first Saturday of each month. I enjoy those meetings, there are a lot of good authors and good people there, and it's nice to mix and talk. With any luck I'll be able to join them in May. And who knows, by then I might have some writing to share. It's a case of fifty words here and ninety there at the moment, just crawling along and not much more. I've always been mopre focused than that. But the best man at my wedding spoke of how my priorities had changed since meeting Caz, and since the Grumblebot arrived, well...

 And I'm not complaining at all.

All Worth It

 Izzy has taken over the world.

 Well, my bit of it, anyway. She screams unless she can sleep next to my wife, in our bed, which means Daddy has to go sleep on the air mattress so he doesn't roll on her by accident. I like the air mattress, but it doesn't mean I sleep uninterrupted, because Caz wakes me when she needs help in the night. Izzy then sleeps all day while I'm at work, the lazy pest, so is rested and ready for another grizzle-fest that evening.

 A man can grow weary of it all, but then Izzy goes and does this

or something like it, and I'm reduced to an adoring wimp again.

 Meanwhile, I returned to my shop after two weeks Paternity Leave to find the rails half empty, not much stock sorted and bags of unsorted donations piled every which way. Some were even in the shop, which means I couldn't open as it's a Health and Safety risk. Today, my third day back, I finally caught up... more or less. I'm worn out and I've hardly started back.

 But look at that photo. All worth it, eh?

Yikes!

Not waiting anymore. Isabella Lucia arrived just before midnight on February 4th, at a touch under 6lb. She's utterly gorgeous. I'm in awe of my wife, who dealt with the birth so well and has managed since on a teacup of sleep a night, because Izzy won't rest unless she's being held by Mummy.

Daddy's a bit tired too, but I feel a tad reticent about saying so. A punch on the nose often offends y'know.

Since the birth, Caz and I have realised a number of things. One is that we should have practised putting the stroller/car seat combo together more often. We've learned that Daddy sleeping on the edge of the bed does not work, because it ends up with Daddy shouting "Yikes!" just before he hits the floor. And we've also learned that a single child can have more wriggly bits than you'd expect to find in a box of worms. Getting a sleep suit on that little Houdini is hard.

But she's healthy, and all her bits are where they should be. She's strong too. A fetch round the nose from an irate Izzy has quite an impact.

Of course, the rest of my life has fallen away a bit. I'm off work for a fortnight, and have written a total of 450 words in four days - and those on the night Caz and Izzy were kept in hospital and I was too wired to sleep. I'm just glad I played the Vice Captain's Cup in the pool league the day before Izzy came. Well, the day she came, in fact - I won the title, and the final ran until 12.30am on the day she was born. Quite a day, eh?

So that's all for this blog. I'd like to think of witty or clever things to say, but I'm too tired, and anyway all the things I feel are trite. Like knowing my daughter is the beautifullest little girl in the world.

Trite. But a bit true.