Phew! I am going ga-ga from staring at my PC for very long stretches of time over the last week - editing, editing, editing. It's time for me to distance myself from my completed MS and forget about it for a while.

I will instead take a little time out and plot novel number two in more detail and hopefully make some progress with that.

It's all go, as I'm attending a publishing workshop in the Irish Writer's Centre tomorrow, where some leading names in the
industry will be talking about exactly what Agents and Publishers want and expect from authors, and how to achieve success when pitching to either.

I'm telling you this as though I will be there schmoozing to beat the band, when the reality is, I will more likely to be struck dumb by my inability to sell myself and end up cowering in a corner, rocking in place, hoping that the force is with me as I silently will the biggest agent in Ireland to sign me on the spot and hand me a publishing contract by the time the seminar is finished!
Well, I can dream, can't I?

L xx
The biggest issue for me with 'being a writer' is making time to do so.
It's one of the first things people ask when they learn that I've written a novel - 'where on earth do you get the time?'

Truth is, with a young son, it's not always easy, but unless you hit the jackpot and get signed to a three book deal straight away and have a worldwide #1 bestseller that makes you a mint and means you can afford to give up your day job, then you simply have to make time.

When I had my lightbulb moment and decided to seriously get my first novel out of my head and onto paper (or word doc to be more precise), I knew doing so in daylight hours was never going to happen. So when my other half made me a birthday gift of a new iPad, I knew then that the time had come.

The accessibility to the written page that the iPad gave me, late at night, propped on my chest under the duvet, meant I could work away tirelessly without disturbing anyone else.

Now, I'm not trying to sell iPads, as I'm pretty sure Apple don't need my help on that, however, my point is that I had to find the time to write, however I could. Most nights I was awake in the wee hours comforting a fretful child with night terrors anyway, so my wide awake brain found it's own comfort in a touch screen keyboard.

Now that I no longer do this writing lark in secret, I've tried to knuckle down on days off from my other job and found it so hard to do. Way too many distractions came my way; housework, grocery shopping, watching the Ellen show (okay, so that last one is my own fault) - they all got in the way.

So I've reverted to what I know, late night type-athons in the dark, and balance has been restored. I'm working away on book #2 and attacking it with gusto, while editing "Someone Else Not Me" so that I can be sure of submitting the best version that it can be to potential agents and publishers.

I don't expect overnight success (although it would be nice), but I'm prepared to wait...and wait...and wait, until some agent/publisher is willing to take a chance on me.

L xx
Ooh, I was in the pre-Paddy's Day grumps yesterday,wasn't I?
Apologies, normal service will resume at once.

L xx

Hello? Hell-llo?
Anybody there?
Am new to all this - how can you tell if anybody's listening?

I'm a little intimidated by blogging, as you may have guessed.
Unsure what to blog about, I don't really know where to start, so, I'll just send this first one out there, into the ether, and hope somebody somewhere is tuning in.

I live a pretty ordinary life, so bountiful tales of adventure are not going to be a regular feature on here, unless you consider such mind-blowing antics as the weekly shopping to be an adventure.  Although, having said that, sometimes women pushing around shopping trolleys can be pretty ruthless, the risk of a broken ankle looming at all times. And then again, it can get pretty hairy when the little one announces from the centre of the aisle that he needs to pee and you find yourself abandoning a fully packed trolley to blaze a trail to the toilet with the stealth of a heat-seeking missile.

But I'm distracted. Or in truth, I'm attempting to distract myself from thoughts of the imminent Paddy's Day celebrations tomorrow; where the population of Ireland gets totally bladdered drunk in the name of nationalist pride, and redecorates the streets of the entire country with a mixture of vomit and the green white and orange of cheap paper flags, while singing 'Molly Malone' at wide-eyed and generally terrified tourists.

I will avoid the major concentration of the above behaviour by staying away from Dublin city centre and instead visiting the local parade (weather permitting - it is Ireland, after all) with the other half, the little one and nieces alike. Let's just hope they all lose interest early enough to bunk up a side street and allow us all to find a decent eatery that's serving something other than the obligatory wet bacon and slimy cabbage.

Ah, even Saint Pat would be okay with that, I'm sure.