every day should be a susie day

Excuse me for being Captain Obvious here, but: aren’t libraries amazing?

My childhood library. (That's not me in the picture. I'm not quite that old.)

This is the library I grew up in: probably the place that made me want to be a writer.   The children’s section was underground, accessed by a wrought-iron gate, a staircase coated with slippery green moss, and a dank, dripping tunnel.  Going to borrow books was like passing into the underworld – except you got to come out the other side, clutching fistfuls of Roald Dahl and Lucy M Boston.

The tunnel has been replaced by wheelchair and pushchair-friendly slopes – for which hooray, obviously: now the book-borrowing there is done by my smallest niece and nephew, who are a bit wee to appreciate a cod-gothic intro to Story Time.  My borrowing takes place in Oxford, under the amused gaze of a librarian who (correctly) suspects I am not taking out Meg Cabot on behalf of an absent teenage daughter.  But I still have the same sensation of being in a vast papery sweet shop.  There are books!  I can take them away without paying!  And if I bring them back – ok, get this, no, really – they’ll let me have some more!

My last visit did remind me of two downsides of my childhood adventures in that underworld:

I reread a lot as a kid. The instinct is still there: my hand reaches automatically for the familiar titles, because I trust them. And I didn’t know how to move on.  Downstairs the names on the spines were old friends: upstairs books were sorted by genre, and I didn’t have a clue where to start. I fell into a gap: not quite ready for Austen, and deeply scared that I might borrow something too challenging or, erm, porny by accident.  (My pre-teen brain: oh, sigh.)

And now? I’m not sure that would’ve happened.  There are SO MANY GOOD BOOKS – and so many ways to find out about them.  You kids these days, you don’t know how lucky you are, with your gigantically varied YA universe, and your well-informed librarians, and your new-fangled reviewing blogthings on your interwebs…

I take it back. That is me in the picture, and apparently I am that old. Now get off my lawn, you whippersnappers! *waves stick* *throws cat*

I started Becca Fitzpatrick’s Hush, Hush: lovingly written, and if YA paranormal romance is your bag then I suspect this is cream not milk – but it’s just not my cup of tea. Alice Kuipers’ Life on the Refridgerator Door fascinated me in a writerly way (how much of a conventional novel can you strip away without losing the fundamentals?) but I was left disappointed, mostly by the thought that we as readers probably need those conventions after all.  And then I read Anne Cassidy’s Forget Me Not, which blew me away.  The story of an missing child, which becomes the story of another missing child from almost 20 years before: multi-layered, suspenseful, all in deceptively simple prose that takes you by the hand and won’t let go.  I want to read everything she’s ever written.

I keep leaping out of bed at 2 am to write down ideas.  Then leaping out of bed at 8 to write them properly.  I’m making wrong turns, and there’s still lots to do with the opening chapters before they are on-the-nose right, but the voice is sorted, and it’s all a bit lovely, this new thing.

Raising a glass of Luigi’s finest to Gene Hunt and the Ashes To Ashes crew, who went out with a blinding finale and will be much missed (I’m still not over the departure of The Perm: this is going to be a slow break-up); ducking Lost finale spoilers (cos I’m only on S5 and that’s too many hours of having my brain broken to ruin the ‘ending’); wondering if my life will ever stop revolving around television about wonky time-travel (while watching Doctor Who, obvs).

The FABULOUS BAKE-A-BOY CHALLENGE is now over, and I’m thrilled to announce that the winner is…

IFFATH, for her magnificent Gingerbread Susie!

Look! It's me, only gingerbready!

I have it on good authority that there was an iced version of those green Converse, but it went the way of all gingerbread before it could be photographed.    Congratulations, Iffath – signed books and gingerbread goodies will be on their way to you soon!  And since she’s apparently multi-talented, the rest of you can cheer yourself up by visiting Iffath’s brilliant YA book blog, LoveReadingX.

Am running out of creative ways to wedge books into my overflowing bookshelves, so I’m back in local library mode – which means my choices are down to serendipity (and how many I can fit in my handbag).  Just finishing Madeleine L’Engle’s classic A Wrinkle In Time, which has the best opening few chapters imaginable.  I could live without the unicorns and the bits where I get told how Jesus is a bit like Rembrandt – but there’s Proper Science, a heartfelt quest for a missing mathematical genius parent, and kids who are weird and brainy and that’s presented as really quite handy.  Hooray!

Writing group met this weekend.  We interspersed our usual curry and wailing with masses of practical stuff, and much constructive hand-holding.  How people carry on writing without that sort of support, I’ll never know.  They giggled at the appropriate moments in my chapter, anyway – and reminded me of several abandoned projects of mine I’d completely forgotten.  They say when you finish a manuscript, you should put it in a drawer, so you can gain some distance.  YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO TAKE IT OUT AGAIN THOUGH.  Brain, please take note.

Wishing daytime telly still meant Utter Bobbins, and not Chuck reruns and Project Runway; attempting to explain the British electoral system to a 16-year-old Kazakh student (apparently I should’ve said ‘we don’t have one’, sigh); becoming oddly obsessed with ham.

No Graham Norton guest appearance on Doctor Who this week, though it appears some people would have preferred him to pop up distractingly in the closing moments…

Flesh and Stone: angels and Amy and SPOILERS, oh my!

Public Service Announcement, for anyone still planning to enter the FABULOUS BAKE-A-BOY CHALLENGE competition (closing date is this Friday, btw): Delia’s gingerbread men recipe is rubbish! Now have kitchen full of inedible people. I sense the Ginger(bread) Companions Club beckoning, just to get rid of the little beggars…  (Much nicerer recipe here, btw.)  Did I mention that you can win lovely free signed books and things?  Go on go on, you will, you will, you will…

This weekend is all about the snogging, apparently. Just finished Luisa Plaja’s Swapped By A Kiss, the semi-sequel to the very funny Split By A Kiss, and it’s another twisty and touching treat. Spiky American Rachel, convinced her British best mate Jo has the perfect life, wishes they could swap places – but when they do, walking in Jo’s shoes isn’t quite as she’d imagined. So far, so Freaky Friday – but as with her previous novels it’s a deceptively clever read, with each girl keeping secrets from the reader as well as each other until the end. The incidental characters are sharply drawn (Tori, Clyde and Tamber especially), Jo’s frantic diary excerpts are a giggle (despite being reproduced in Comic Sans: oh, editors, why do you do such things?), and it’s a thrill to read a fluffy teen romance where the heroine is a sharp-tongued, comic-book-drawing, plus-sized grump.  Frankly, any novel which turns on being able to identify a text message code based on Buffy episode titles cannot fail to charm.

Erm.  I’m having motivation issues, and for once they aren’t even mine.  Too many characters, all going in different directions!  Now I remember why I liked writing in the first person.

Attempting to cure womanflu through the power of early Supernatural alone (Dean Winchester: like paracetamol, in a way); getting overexcited about the election, and then horribly depressed at the prospect of any of the likely outcomes; being Twitterspammed by Gene Hunt.

The Guardian may think the Daleks win the monster-off, but for the stuff of nightmares nothing can top Weeping Angels.  Blimey.

The Time of Angels. Click if you dare!

Whovians are a crafty lot, btw: check out this spiffy birthday cake, and the magnificent cosplaying femme!Doctors (complete with a really intriguing answer to the ‘why are you doing that, then?’ question). Telly: it’s not just for looking at, you know.

Della Says OMG! – the debut novel from Chicklish‘s co-founder Keris Stainton.  It’s the best/worst night of Della’s life: she kisses the boy of her dreams, only to discover her diary has been stolen – and whoever has it is intent on torturing her, posting extracts online and into her friends’ pockets.  It’s a great set-up for exploring issues of trust and privacy, but above all this is a first-love story, written in sparky, convincing prose.  There’s a strong language warning on the back (which is definitely accurate!), but I hope parents and book-providers aren’t put off giving this to mature younger teens: there are wonderful positive messages in this book, about self-confidence and understanding your own body without shame.  This could be the Forever of the 21st century, girls…

My one quibble is with the cover, which is gorgeous but made me expect a very different book (something more immediately OMG!tastic, like Lauren Myracle’s Internet Girls series, or, erm, Big Woo/serafina67).  But if it makes the book leap off the shelves into readers’ hands, then it’s done its job – and the writing is so fresh, fun and beguiling that you’ll probably be halfway through the book before you’ve noticed.  A teen-lit voice to watch.

Note to self: PLANNING.  We do that now.  I sat down all excited to write the next chapter, and then realised I didn’t know what was going to happen in it or what any of the characters were like.  Have thus ended up with a lovely meandering string of crap jokes about Jane Eyre and ramen noodles, that goes nowhere at all.  (“It’s stream of consciousness, Miss! Virginia made me do it!”)  Also decided this week that Project Poppy is carp personified and I might well throw it away and start again.  So, funtimes.

Crawling to the gym for the first time in 3 weeks, ooer; watching Ashes to Ashes in open-mouthed awe; discovering baked sweet potato and blue cheese (taste: om nom nom; visual: Giant Mouldy Wotsit).

Lovely blog readers, let me steal your brains!   This here shiny website is shortly to undergo a grand transformation, and (as well as exclusive extracts, noisy things on YouTube and general time-wasty shenanigans) SusieDay Towers will be getting a new coat of paint.  This makes me happy.  And confused.  I am so indecisive I have been known not to have any lunch because I can’t decide if I want cheese on toast or soup, so picking my favourite of two colour schemes is utterly beyond me.  So: halp?

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Am currently reading The Official Nancy Drew Handbook: Skills, Tips & Life Lessons From Everyone’s Favourite Girl Detective.  V handy as I bunked off Girl Detective School the day they did How To Train a Carrier Pigeon and Advanced Kidnap-Thwarting.  Alas, I am less interested in Nancy’s help in flower-arranging and, um, How To Get That Ring on Your Finger and That Man to the Altar.  Hush now, Nancy dear: I’m reading the Usborne Detective’s Handbook which has proper criminals with straggly beards in.  Now where’s my Whifflepoof?

CUT CUT SNIPPETY TYPE CUT SLASH HACK ARGH! SLURP.  Or: I am editing Project Poppy.  So far this mostly involves deleting entire chapters and drinking a lot of tea while trying to think of things that are funny.  Dairylea triangles = funny.  Explaining how time travel works = not funny.  Oh, but guess what I’ve got?  The brand new not-out-till-March-1st North American paperback of serafina67 *urgently requires life*!  Still as pink and gorgeous as ever, and now with a sneaky peeky at My Invisible Boyfriend tucked away at the back too.  Woo, etc.

cooking tagine in my new tagine (eee! even if I need to learn to actually read a recipe on occasion); wondering who thought BSG’s Razor was a good idea; giggling at the sheer lolarity of the new Doctor Who trailer; throwing things in skips; eating lotus flowers while harassed by a dragon for Chinese New Year.