Thank you for reading my book!

I hadn't really paid much attention to my Kindle sales. Having nipped in to the reporting system with mild enthusiasm at first, that initial excitement quickly began to wane as I came to realise that people would not magically stumble upon my modest little novel and buy it in their droves.

So I neglected to check it with any great frequency, but felt that today I really ought to check the state of affairs. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not an unaware millionaire, mores the pity, in fact there's very little in the way of royalties heading my way. But it was a little bit of a thrill adding up how many people now have my unheard of book in their digital libraries. I think the bulk came about because of my Easter give away via the Kindle Direct Publishing scheme, that allows a few days free sales as a promotional method. What was nice to notice was a considerable bump in sales the following month. In fact, I sold more Kindle books in April than all the other months it's been on release added together. 

So in total, if you add sales, freebies and the three lovely people who borrowed it from the Kindle Library, via Amazon there are 728 people who have my novel! That is obviously minuscule in the big pond of book sales, but to know that many people have read, are reading, or will read my novel does make me feel rather proud. It's validation I suppose, knowing that I'm not crazy and I have written something people other than those I know might like to read. 

Now I look at that figure and think to myself, how can I get that to 1000? If it gets to 1000, then I'll immediately wonder how to double it. 

What would be lovely of course, is for the printed edition to end up on more bookshelves. Sure, we're in the digital age and many, myself included, tend to prefer the convenience of the digitised edition. But there is something magnificent about a physical book. There's a little bit of magic lost in translation when you're holding your e-book reader, compared to flicking through the pages of a novel, it's weight in your hand dependent on the content. I have a 1000 page book on my e-reader, it weighs the same as the 350 page novel. Sure, when you're travelling that's extremely handy, but you can't really beat the visceral pleasure of having the book in your lap. To establish a successful print of demand book is certainly harder, because without the presence in a book store, and without the advertising power of a publisher, no one really knows it's there. 

But after checking my reports today I do sense I have won a minor victory over my own doubts. These days it is almost too easy to publish something. Technically speaking anyone can do it. Sure you need to write something, which is a challenge in itself, but mostly you just need time and determination to that. And there's no quality control. There's no saying who has written a well constructed, competently structured, mistake free novel, and who has written incredulous drivel. Both can be published and both have, from the outset, the same chances. So it is pleasing to see that I'm on the right side of heading to 1000 owners of Clara Bow and the Seal of Solomon. 

It helps in another sense too, because it becomes even more of a duty in my mind to continue the story I started. It's not that I wouldn't have anyway, but it is a spur to get moving, to proceed with haste and strike while the iron is hot (okay, the iron is still heating up, but by the time it's hot I should be ready to strike).

I have already done prep work for the sequel, research into the object the adventure will partially revolve around, the overall arch for the tale, the character progression and how it will lead to a third part. Basically the only thing stopping me from being further in is me. Same old story right? Adventures of a procrastinator! Except procrastinators don't have adventures, they plan for them another day!

Not this time! 

Clara Bow and the Staff of Aaron won't write itself and I don't have space for a 100 chimps with typewriters, so it's down to me to get started. I hope there's at least 728 people out there who want to know what happens next!

If, by any chance, you are one of those people, why not nip back to Amazon and review the novel? They really help us authors. If you're not one of those people, yet, then check out the book trailer below and see what you think! It's only 99p...

A slow painful exit from the hospital

Last time we spoke I was awaiting Thursday the 23rd with bated breath. It was to be adorable wife's post operative glorious return home. 

But as with many things in life, expectation and reality are two very different beasts. Certainly it has proven one thing, none of you readers are psychic as I previously posited; if you were I am certain you would have warned us. You would right?

The day of the operation went well. We awoke at 5am to give us plenty of time to make our way to the hospital. The only stress at this point was adorable wife getting concerned that we were ultimately leaving the house a little later than planned. I reassured her we had planned extra early just in case, but at that time roads would be clear. 

The journey was indeed uneventful and we arrived at the hospital at 7.15am, ready for checking in. We sat in the same little waiting area as we did 18 months ago for the previous operation. But soon a young nurse called Flora ushered three of us into a new waiting area. This was the new procedure intended to the make visit flow better. Here adorable wife was taken through the paperwork, met one of the surgeons and the anaesthetist. As she was first on the list that day, she was soon carted off to the operating theatre. This was at 9.15am, so not bad going all things considered.

Then comes the waiting. I knew from past experience the operation would probably last an hour or so and then there would be several hours in recovery before they allow her out. 

In the end it was about 2pm when I saw adorable wife being pushed out of recovery and I was invited to follow her bed into the private room she had been assigned. 

I sat with her all through the day, apart from 45 minutes for lunch. It was in that lunch time that the surgeons inevitably opted to visit her to explain what they had done. 

As before, the combination of anaesthesia and morphine made poor adorable wife very sick and unable to hold down liquids or food throughout the day. She was very groggy and despite constantly saying she wanted to sleep, never managed to settle. 

The parting at 9pm was particularly hard, as she was in tears, desperate for me to stay. Although it was heart rending to leave her that way, I knew I was also a distraction and that with me gone she had more chance of allowing herself to settle and sleep. 

So came Thursday. All signs were good; I got some texts from adorable wife that suggested she was doing well and would be okay to leave.

I drove down to the hospital and arrived at 1.45, in a little bit of a panic I have to say, because I'd had a text from adorable wife suggesting the surgeons were to visit again. I figured I'd miss them yet again. Worse still I could find no parking spaces in the car park, despite the sign suggesting otherwise. In the end, fearing time was running out I parked in what I suspected, though it was not clear, was a disabled bay.

I rushed to the ward, admitting that I may be inappropriately parked, but glad to discover i had not missed the surgeons. Fortunately they arrived barely 5 minutes after I had. We learned that theoretically the endometriosis had been fully removed, the adhesions untangled and a node removed. This all pointed to good news as far as I could tell.

With the surgeons gone I rushed back out to the car park and drove around aimlessly hoping to find an appropriate spot. I noted a lady lingering promisingly by her car and did a quick circuit of the car park to arrive back where she was in the hope she was leaving. Fortunately she did and I quickly made my move, noting another driver was lingering with intent. It was then I noticed even this spot was not technically a parking bay, but the yellow lined end of the bays. Seeing several other cars in similar spaces I left it. But this did mean a third trip out about 45 minutes later, to finally secure myself a genuine space. 

And so the waiting began. From the off it seemed clear adorable wife was doing okay enough to leave. Yes she was in pain and discomfort, but she could get out of bed with assistance and was peeing okay, the key issue for discharge.

Everything started to move at a snails pace. There was large gaps between visits, and every time adorable wife enquired if she was to be discharged. First the answer was, one more pee, then it was yes, but we just need to check with the doctor. Then it was just yes, but with nothing actually happening. 

At 5.30pm the nurse actually came and said she was allowed to take the two cannula from adorable wife's arm. This seemed to be the clearest indication that she was to be discharged shortly. Great news!

Yet we waited. To our surprise a dinner appeared after another visit to the toilet. Not wanting to waste it we shared the meal, assuming we would soon be home.

Yet we waited some more. Time was creeping on. It started to feel farcical. Again and again we both asked if adorable wife could leave. Again and again they said yes, she was next on their list of things to do. But nothing happened.

Poor adorable wife was shattered and just wanted to rest, but couldn't because she was thinking we'd leave at any moment. Plus with the constant noise of visitors, tea trolleys and general ward beeping and booping, it is genuinely hard to settle.

Finally I went to the desk and asked why we couldn't leave because adorable wife was getting seriously upset. The nurse admitted that they were trying but the doctor had left the file they needed to print open and had now gone home. They'd tried getting another doctor to close the file but was was unable for some reason. So we appeared to be stuck in the ward simply due to a technical glitch.

It took a head nurse to suggest printing the page as it was, rather than the letter they needed, to get the ball rolling. 

They couldn't dispense any painkillers by this time, but I convinced them that adorable wife was well stocked with these and there was no need.

Amazingly the hand over from day to night shift took place before we were actually discharged. The night nurse was most surprised to find adorable wife still in her bed!

So at about 9.50pm we finally exited the damn hospital to make our way home.

By the time we arrived home poor adorable wife was at the end of her tether. I hadn't been prepared for such a late return, nor had I expected her to want to shower. She had insisted on slipping on a sports bra at the hospital, despite my protestation it was not needed. Sadly, the attempted removal of this was the straw that broke the camels back. She was unable and too upset to guide me and I was feeling tired and flustered, so in the end the only solution was to get some scissors and cut it off! 

Suffice to say she got showered, got into bed and conked out.

The good news is since that debacle of a day we have been doing fine. She's been resting mostly, with only one brief visit from my mum yesterday, which enabled me to nip out and grab some extra supplies.

In retrospect, the only sore point about the whole operation was that stupid delay in getting discharged. It seemed to become a hold up due to a technical issue. But it was baffling how there seemed to be a general lack of urgency to free up a bed, let alone allowing a fellow human being the dignity of leaving the hospital to the comfort of her own home.

The day before the day before the day after

You know what day I'm looking forward to?

Of course you don't. If you did I'd be slightly perturbed to discover you all had some form of collective, long distance psychic ability that would presumably render this blog, and any form of news reporting utterly redundant. Though if you did have such a great power, why the hell would you be wasting it on me? Perhaps some of you do have this power, but are using it for a greater cause. Or perhaps for evil, I can't presume you are all potential superheroes in the making. 

I digress.

The day I'm looking forward to is not tomorrow, but the day after, which, for those of you reading this after the fact (where were you?) is Thursday the 23rd May 2013. 

What's so special about this day? Well, actually, it's pay day, and that would be ample reason to celebrate its arrival. The replenishment of the old bank account is always a cause for spending all my money immediately  celebration, because it means I'm no longer facing imminent poverty for a few more weeks. But it's not why I'm looking forward to Thursday. 

So why, you ask, am I looking forward to Thursday? Those of you without psychic abilities do anyway. The rest of you, well, I'm suspicious of you now. I mean, if you have these invasive mind drilling powers, just peering at your own whim into peoples minds, who's monitoring you? I demand answers, once I'm done blogging I'm writing to Patrick Stewart to demand he explains himself.

I digress.

I'll tell you why I'm looking forward to Thursday. Hurrah you cry. Perhaps huzzah. It may only be an internal cheer. An inner leap of delight. Whatever form it takes, it will be a relief I'm sure; a release from the infernal torture of pointless side-bar conversation that brings no added value whatsoever to the point in hand. 

Today, being Tuesday, is the day before adorable wife's endometriosis operation, making Thursday the day after that. Therefore today is the day before the day before the day after. Perhaps there is a cleverer, more concise way of stating that fact, but there you go, I've made my choice and there's nothing you can do about it, even if you are psychic, because that's predicting before, not changing after, so ha ha ha.

Today is bowel prep day. Which is never a fun day for those involved. It's considered an extreme method of bowel cleansing, compared to an enema, which is the quick and easy option, as far as I can tell. The pre-op nurse even noted that the hospital was considering removing the citramag bowel prep and replacing it with an enema on the day of the operation itself. Why she bothered mentioning this when it isn't the case as yet I don't know. 

So adorable wife is in the process of rushing to the loo frequently and I am doing my best not to be openly hungry or eat when in view. 

That's Tuesday.

Wednesday, will therefore, be an early start, the drive to the hospital, the prepping, seeing adorable wife carted off on a trolley, and the long wait for her return. Then she'll be back, all tubed and drugged up. Then I'll drive home alone.

That'll be Wednesday.

Thus, my hope for Thursday is a drive back to the hospital, to see adorable wife happier and more awake and ready to return home in the afternoon. 

Bring on the day after the day before the day before.

What does it take to become one of the 'sorted'?

Does everyone else really know what they're doing? It sometimes seems like life consists less of the haves and the have nots and more of the sorted and the unsorted.

Sure the haves, those lucky enough to be well off and who don't have to worry too much about money seem pretty sorted, leaving the have nots to flounder and struggle and so be the unsorted. But I don't think it's a simple as that.

I see some people and they're getting on with life, happy with where they are and apparently knowing where they've been, where they are now and where they're heading. These people are not always rich, in monetary terms, but they are usually rich with joy, love and life. I think this is a blissful state to be in, because it means you are living in contentment and happiness, which surely is all we can ever ask for.

The rest of us fall into the unsorted category. We're not where we thought we'd be, or we still have unachieved goals and aims and with no clue as to how they can be achieved.

But is it all an illusion? You can only know your own mind and experience your own life. I'm sure there are a few blessed individuals who have hit upon the success in the very field they wanted and have found a wonderful person to share this success with, but just as the super rich are not even 1% of the population, I suspect these are in the great minority. And how can we know how happy they are with this supposed success? If you possess the drive to gain success in any field of expertise, you are often the type to never be content with what you have done so far, you always want more.

The reason I'm pondering this is because I would love to be a successful film maker, a screenwriter, a novelist. But I am not, and I know this is because I have not made the prerequisite effort to achieve this goal. I know there's advice galore out there, and if you're truly talented and try hard enough, some degree of success must be possible. But I constantly battle with my inner self and my lack of nerve to push myself in front of the right people and say hi there, here I am and this is what I can do. All that easily accessible advice is from people who have managed to get so far in the same goals, so are these people are genuinely content with what they have achieved, are they better for it? Are they the 'sorted'? The ones who understood what needed to be done and just did it?

Are the unsorted the ones who are chaotic, unfocused or easily distracted? Or is it all a matter of perspective? Do others look at my happy marriage with adorable wife and think I am one of the sorted? Am I looking at the success of others in envy, unaware of the elements of their life that they feel has failed.

I suppose that is the universal truth; you can only know your own thoughts. To say you envy another is to presume they see things the same way as you. But who really does see everything exactly as you do? I don't think anyone does. Perhaps the genuine truth is that no one is every truly a member of the 'sorted'. Perhaps the happiest people are the ones who spend their life trying to achieve more, gain more knowledge and do more. That is why they are sorted, because they believe there's more to life than what they have right now.

Perhaps I am more sorted than I first believed...

Adorable wife gets a date

Aeons ago, in a time long forgotten by the annals of history, adorable wife underwent leeching to deal with the accursed affliction endometriosis.

But these denizens of the medical establishment opted not to offer a full and extensive removal of the endomonster and its evil sidekick adhesions, instead leaving the cruel and unforgiving beast within to cause further chaos in her inner sanctum.

Through the mists of time, adorable wife forged on, despite the internal strife caused by endo and adhesions. Many a sonnet were sung about her trials and tribulations, her brave struggles to defy the pain that throbbed, stabbed and tore within. It has passed into legend, her efforts at work, oft whispered in dark corners by women who know, who have also been touched by the dark spirited creature know as endo.

It was foretold in the old legends that time would come that adorable wife would once again rise up and bring herself forth to the medicals, offering her flesh to their mercy for the final and ultimate battle against endo and adhesions. Legend spoke of a master surgeon, of a sacred prepping of the bowel. It spoke of a long, arduous journey deep into the shire of Oxford. The lesser known, but curiously brave charioteer Michael would tame the mighty Vauxhallian steed to take adorable wife on this treacherous, yet essential expedition.

And lo, friends and brethren, this time is shortly nigh. A snail did deliver not one, nay, but two scriptures to verify not only the date of the before-op, but also the op itself.

Oh what joy there was in the household that day. Laughter and music did surely spill out into the town air that very night and, tis true I swear, made the very sun himself rise to see what glorious wonder had occurred. Oh yes, merriment and happiness was known that day.

By an extraordinary twist of fate, unseen even by the scribes of legend, the date for this op fell on the very day of Michael's birth, itself a most triumphant and momentous moment, still echoing through the corridors of time and space, its final impact unknown by even the most powerful soothsayers.

May was to be the month when wrongs were righted. When endo and adhesions met their maker and adorable wife was freed from the evil tyranny that had ruled over her every breathing moment for time immemorial.

Pray, readers, friends, brothers and sisters, that by June, the recovery is a swift and contended one. That adorable wife may, once again, be a free woman. 

Where have all the heroes gone?

I recently signed up to a well known online streaming service who will get no free advertising via this very, massively influential blog. This aforementioned service, had many delights, but one guilty pleasure I stumbled upon was the classic 80's action adventure show MacGyver.

I loved that show as a kid! I mean I wanted to be MacGyver; solving problems with a penknife, duct tape and whatever was lying around at the time. Saving the world one cunning, duct taped device at a time.

Of course, nostalgia is often a tricky and deceptive beast. My previous efforts to enjoy such treasures of my youth as Knight Rider, The A-Team and He-Man, have always ended in tragedy. There's nothing more upsetting as an adult than the realisation you enjoyed, nay, loved, absolute trash. TV of the 80's was quite the cheese-fest it seems, and we're not talking Blacksticks Blue, or even good old Brie. No no, we are talking hot, sticky fondue cheesy.

So it was with some trepidation that I clicked on the pilot episode of MacGyver.

It started off promisingly enough, with a voiceover heavy rescue mission that was actually well filmed and reasonably witty.

After that we had the rousing and fun theme tune that I remember and love humming to this day. The title sequence is something I do miss in our more lean, gritty times. It's not the same just having the name of show appear and disappear subtly as the show itself starts, which seems to be the standard method these days. There's something comforting about the montage of top moments from the show, a catchy theme tune, and the bit where the main character, or characters, look at someone (or sometimes at the screen) and smiles.

Titles over and suddenly it quickly looked a uncomfortably 80's, though worringly I have noticed that much of the fashion is coming back, just slightly modified of course. There was a definite and very poor attempt to make MacGyver quirky by having him live in an observatory. There was also a forced and hideous attempt to prove his nice guy credentials by making him have a 'little brother', which I believe was (is?) a scheme where poor kids get to hang out with responsible adults who act as their surrogate big brother. Anyway it was trite and heavy handed.

Rather worringly, I also noted that the director was credited as one Alan Smithee. Mr Smithee, for those who don't know, was the alias any director could choose if they felt the resulting product of their efforts was not to their standard, and had been changed by external choices out of their control. Alan Smithee has since been retired, after 'directing' a vast array of turkeys, because he apparently became too well known and a more subtle alias was picked for the same purpose.

I brushed my concerns aside by suggesting that a big name director may have directed the episode, but didn't want anyone to know. Bear in mind, TV was not a prestigious place to be back then.

Regardless the episode got started in earnest when a bomb is set off inside an impressively hi-tech underground laboratory. At last 'Mac' is called into service to rescue two potential Nobel prize nominees, trapped at the deepest level.

And at lo and behold, the quick thinking, calm attitude, and amazing ability to improvise his way around a disaster zone leads MacGyver to save the day in an impressively entertaining and non cheesy manor. Indeed I have seen more recently made disaster style movies that were less entertaining.

So I got a little hooked and started ploughing head first into more episodes. MacGyver saves villagers in Burma, helps a crusading a journalist in central America, helps fight against an army of ants, helps steal back some diamonds, helps his friends put out an oil fire and is targeted by an evil hitman. They even ditched the observatory and little brother. Result. The only duff episode was one where they 'borrowed' a whole chunk of the chase scenes from The Italian Job, to very distracting levels!

And you know what? Yeah it's dated and a little cheesy in places, but overall it's great fun and what keeps me coming back is the ingenuity and general likeability of the lead. And it got me to thinking about the purpose of entertainment and the role TV can play in our lives.

I'm not sure there is an equivalent to the more family friendly action/adventure shows of old. I believe I am right in saying these have been replaced by my least favoured form of 'entertainment', the reality TV show. These are the shows on at prime time and these are the shows influence the families, and therefore, more specifically, the children of today.

Without going off on a ranting tangent about why I don't like reality TV, my argument would be that something like MacGyver is surely a better, more worthy influence on young minds and is something we lack on TV these days. Dramas and action shows are more adult oriented these days, I'm sure you'd agree. Dr Who and a few BBC efforts aside, most of the offerings, certainly from the US, are all morally complex shows with flawed antagonists and a high level of violence. I'm not suggesting many of these shows aren't superb; they are, and I think TV as an art is probably at an all time high. But the 'heroes' of these shows can be brutal and dark. They reflect our cynical times, our fears of terrorism or financial meltdown. But kids can't get down with that. Kids don't need deep reflection upon the nature of the human soul. They love action, adventure and excitement, and will be learning from what they see, whether you realise it or not.

Sometimes, even as an adult, I like a hero who is a hero because he (or she) happens to be a good person and who you know will act with the best intentions. I love that MacGyver is generous to a fault, will put his life on the line for others at the drop of a hat, and dives into danger with a wisecrack. But I love that he isn't smug and he isn't cocky, just confident. Hell with the fact that may not be like any real person, I quite like the thought that it could be. It's an aspiration right? To be good, to be strong at the right time, to have the brains to outwit those who wish harm upon others.

But more than that I love that he triumphs not with brawn or firepower, but with brains, ingenuity and knowledge. He outsmarts people. He takes the time to think and finds a way; he is the personification of the phrase, where there's a will there's a way. What greater message to teach a growing mind than to seek a solution no matter what the problem? Determination, thought and knowledge.

And of course, being a family friendly show he shunned weapons, always tossing them aside. He does fight, but only when forced to, not as a first resort. So again, if the message is that violence doesn't have to be the answer to your woes, is that not a positive influence?

All that and it's based in reality, so even if his attributes make him somewhat idealistic, the world is recognisable and believable. Unlike a sci-fi show, perhaps like Dr Who of present, which is certainly aimed at families and does attempt to be moral in its messages, it has the grounding of the real world to make a child believe they could really be like that. No one can truly watch a sci-fi or fantasy character and hope to emulate their hero in the same way, because you are already removed from the reality of your own world.

In short, where are todays aspirational heroes? Where are the good guys that kids growing up now want to be? I would much rather live in a world of aspiring MacGyvers than a world of aspiring Katie Prices.

How about you?

The passion of the food...

Food is important. We're all agreed on that point right? I mean, without it we'd not be doing very well, indeed, we'd not be at all, so it's essential. But it's more than that to me. I think what is really important is good food. Look, I went and used the bold text and everything, just to highlight the sheer importance of the good. That's how darn important it is!

Sure, if you're starving, facing certain death and the only way to survive is to eat a scotch egg, by all means scoff that sucker down. Okay, that might be your perfect meal, I don't know and I'm not hear to judge (you weirdo), but when I say I love my food, I mean it. Sorry, I used the bold again, it's getting a little out of hand I know.

I love to eat great tasting food that pleasures my tastes buds. Simply re-fuelling is not an option. I want flavours to burst on my tongue, linger in my mouth, and pleasure my throat. Crikey, does that sound filthy to you too?

This is why I think being able to cook is so important. Because you need to be able to pleasure yourself (oh please behave, I'm talking about food still) with any culinary delight that takes your fancy. I have had the absolute pleasure of being with adorable wife long enough to have learned some of her tricks. I always enjoyed having a fumble in the kitchen, even when I lived alone, but that moved to the next level once I was happily thrust into coupledom with little Miss adorable cook. 

Delicious, simple, homemade food! Yum!

Whereas before I used cheats and shortcuts, I learnt the trick to good food starts with the basics; good ingredients, a mix of flavours and actually tossing the measuring out the window and going with your own judgement. Honestly, when I stopped checking level teaspoons and tablespoons and just went with a splash, a dash and the occasional toss, the food started to taste that much better.

I do think you need to have passion in the kitchen. It helps, I admit to have a passion for the person or people you are cooking for. Be it for the love of your life, or for loved relations or great friends, having someone you truly care for soon to taste your efforts does push you to make a great effort. 

I know this can sometimes mean that when you are living alone you lack this drive and passion. If you are making all that effort, and frankly, sometimes it can be a real effort, and the only person who is going to benefit is you, it can seem somewhat of a dud. But I think of all the people you cook well for, you should be the most important. Only you can truly judge what your taste buds love; what sends fireworks off as you crunch, chew and yes, you naughty people, swallow. And who knows how often, and when you will find yourself alone, facing random food in the fridge, and a craving for more than a microwave pasta? If you can take on the mantle of chef de noir and whip yourself up a mighty feast, worthy of a king, then you can be guaranteed you can always cheer yourself up. You can always take care of yourself and you can always give pleasure to others. And that my friends is not to be sniffed at.

I actually feel a little sorry for anyone who eats out to eat better than they do at home. Adorable wife and I do eat out, we all like a break from DIY and to try something we wouldn't knock up at home. But I will always maintain that the best food is the food we make at home. Because at home it is made with love, whereas eating out, it is made for business. Sure, if our budget was a bit more grandiose, I'm sure we'd have our taste buds tantalised sufficiently. But at a certain level, I'm sure the food is made with passion and love. Though, I would still always go back to the food made with the passion and love of adorable wife, over that of a stranger. 

So the moral of this blog is, learn to cook, because food is not just fuel it is a beautiful bounty of double entendrés.