The Tresham dovecote

This year, for our family holiday, we'd planned to go to Spain but the pandemic put paid to that so I spent my fortnight off work at home, doing plenty of writing and going out for walking expeditions with the family.

Dude and the dovecote

One day, I had to go to Corby Diagnostic for a blood-test and Dude came along to keep me company.  As payback for him, we went on a Pokemon hunt around the town and nearby Geddington and then, on the way home, he found a Pokemon gym in the middle of nowhere.  Careful navigation got us to the very small village of Newton and further investigation led us to the Newton Field Centre, set into a church quite - oddly enough - some way from the houses.  I suggested to Dude there might be a spooky reason for this and we riffed some ideas for horror stories before wandering up the public footpath.

Off to the left was a dovecote, the source of the Pokemon gym and a building I didn't even realise was there.  Intrigued, we tramped across the field, found a very small door and - not quite knowing what to expect - went inside.  It was apparently built with space for 3,600 broods and it was a peculiar sensation, looking up and up and seeing all these holes around the wide open central space. 

"The dovecote was built c.1580 from roughly dressed course stone with very little mortar.  Its size is most unusual - fifty-three feet nine, by twenty-three feet seven, with the height to the eaves twenty feet and to the roof-ridge about thirty-five.  Now, more than four centuries later, it, the church and fishponds are all that remain of the Tresham family mansion, a place where it is said the Gunpowder Plot meetings were held."
information from the VADs J L Carr page

Dude through the small doorway

I'm lucky enough to live in an area rich in history - especially that of the Tresham family, who designed Rothwell's old Market Square building and the wonderful Triangular Lodge, as well as being prime conspirators in the Gunpowder Plot - and finding places like this really fires up the creative part of my brain.  This location will absolutely feature in my writing at some point, both the interior and the exterior and a friend pointed out there are footpaths that can get you from Kettering to the dovecote and back, so I'll be heading there again for more research and photographs.

Google maps screengrab shows the distance of the church from the houses and how big the Tresham estate must have been.

If you have a dovecote near you, I'd definitely go and check it out - who knows, it might inspire some stories for you too!

Dad... (and that exasperated tone)

In June 2014 (you can see it here), I posted a Calvin & Hobbes strip where his Dad has an amusing way of explaining certain things and revisited the situation in May 2016 (you can see it here).

Dude's 15 tomorrow and doesn't ask me many 'big' questions any more - most of his queries revolve around why I listen to the kind of music I do (he calls The Killers "your favourite emo-Goth band" so I sing him Mr Brightside acapella and give him a lovely ear-worm for the rest of the day) or if I can get him a FIFA/PS4 topup voucher from Amazon.

2020 - he's sprouting up!

I understand this, I really do but it doesn't mean I have to particularly enjoy it - I miss those days of giving him the right answer and seeing the revelation in his eyes as much as I miss giving him a weird answer and seeing his little frown that said "really?  Are you sure Dad?"

So in honour of that little boy who's now a strapping mid-teen (seriously, where the hell did that time go?), here are some musings from Calvin's Dad, which I wish I'd thought of...

and then, sometimes, he gets his own back...

2007

Rude Dude, 2011

2014

2017

2019

Happy birthday Dude, love you oodles...

Happy Star Wars Day!

Regular readers of the blog will know that I'm a massive Star Wars fan and, as such, how could I resist celebrating this when it coincides with posting day?

I've written about the films (generally the original trilogy) a lot over the past eleven years or so and you can find the entries on this link, though the specific run of posts I did as part of the 40th anniversary in 2017 can be found here.

Writing these posts has been great fun, the research has often been enlightening but perhaps my favourite post is from when we went to an exhibit in London 2013 and Dude & I got to fight with lightsabers on the Tantive IV.  You can read about it here.

Dude gets me in a Force choke-hold at the London Film Museum, when it was in the old County Hall building, August 2013.  He's now almost as tall as I am.

And to further celebrate, here are some of my favourite trading cards that never fail to bring back wonderful memories of warm summer days during 1978 (as I wrote about here).

One of my favourite images (it also appeared in the photo-insert of the novel), I was slightly disappointed when I realised we only get to see this Stormtrooper and his Dewback from a distance.

Another of my favourite images

I do like Stormtroopers

Happy Star Wars Day!

Choose Life

It was almost five years ago, on the 4th August 2014, when I suffered my heart attack, a life-changing event in a lot of ways.  Although I'd already started to lose weight (as I wrote about here), it focused my attention and I decided my "Fall Guy" summer (which I wrote about here) was a chance to make some changes as I realised what was important to me.

Me & Dude, July 2019

At my heaviest, I weighed 18st 6.75lbs (258.75lbs or just over 117kgs) and at 5ft 11 my BMI was 35.9 putting me well into the “obese” end of things.  Within a year, having cut the crap out of my diet and walked a LOT, my weight was down to 13st 11.5lbs (193.5lbs - a total loss of 65.25lbs) and my BMI was 27, slightly off the midway of overweight.

Five years on and I'm maintaining that weight loss (as of today, I'm 13st 10lbs).  I'm still walking between 20-30 miles a week and I've also recently become a convert to Park Run, introduced by Alison and our friend David, hitting a good pace regularly (my pb's 27m 46s).  I feel better, I'm as fit as I've ever been and I'm definitely embracing life which, although it was a tough way to figure it out, is the lesson I took from the incident.

Life's too short, people, embrace it!

Me & Dude, on the patio, June 2014 - part of the batch of photographs that made me realise I needed to do something about my weight...

David & I at the Kettering Park Run, May 2019, picture by John Woods

Dad.... (another exasperated tone)

Back in June 2014 (you can see it here), I posted a Calvin & Hobbes strip where his Dad has an amusing way of explaining certain things.

Now that he's getting older, Dude doesn't ask me so many 'big' questions and I kind of miss that (I understand the process, we're getting older, yadda yadda, it doesn't mean I have to enjoy time whipping by though, does it?) - I miss giving him the right answer and seeing the revelation in his eyes but I also miss giving him a weird answer and that little frown he has, as if to say "really?  Are you sure Dad?"

So in honour of that little boy who is eleven (where the hell did that time go?) on Thursday, here are some more of Calvin's Dad's musing, which I wish I'd thought of...

Me & Dude, May 2006 (he'd just turned one)

Me & Dude, May 2016

My Fall Guy summer...

A year ago today, I went into hospital having suffered a heart attack.  It was a shocking experience, a real slap in the face from my mortality that made me look hard at - and change - a lot of things in my life.

left - me on a bike ride (picture by Dude) - 3/8/14
right - me & Dude, at Welland Park, playing football - 2/8/15

I wanted to mark today but wasn't sure how and then found this little essay I wrote in September last year but never got round to publishing on the blog.  As it was written 'in the thick of things', it has an immediacy I couldn't recapture now, so here it is...

* * *

As we glide smoothly into Autumn (my favourite season of the year) and the nights draw in and the mornings darken, it seems - as it often does - as though summer was gone in a blink.  It was, I think.

I had such plans for this summer.  There was a novel I was going to write - I thought it was a fantastic idea, I worked hard on the pitch and critiqued the three chapters with my pre-reader band and my chums at the Northampton SF Writers group, there were adventures to be had with Dude, day-trips to exciting places and our Wales holiday.

The first adventure wasn’t the success I’d been hoping for, as Dude & I went to London for the Film & Comic Con event at Earls Court in July.  The venue was terrible, the staffing levels were appalling and we left mid-afternoon, thoroughly disappointed.  “Why don’t we go into the City?” I asked and Dude agreed and it saved the day from disaster, as we had a lovely afternoon wandering around the capital, visiting our favourite shops, eating a lovely meal on Shaftesbury Avenue and then leaning contentedly on each other in the train home as we read our books.

In early July, the publisher I’d approached with my “Fantastic Novel” pitch turned it down - he was very complimentary about the writing and structure but didn’t feel it was different enough for his list.  As nice as he was, as nice as the compliments were, I was gutted.  I didn’t write anything for a week, a fortnight.  I then had three people contact me wanting short stories, I spoke with Ian Whates from my writing group and Sue Moorcroft, my critiquing partner and writing friend and I started to pick myself back up.

All through this time, events in the world (especially the Gaza situation) were darkening my days and in a bid to stave off a black dog episode, I was browsing through ebay and found the first series of “The Fall Guy” for sale.  I decided to buy it, reasoning that I could binge-watch it (on my own, I presumed) and forget things for a while.

On Sunday 3rd August, I had several attacks of acid reflux - that awful burning in the chest sensation - which had me eating Gaviscon like they were Smarties.  When Dude & I went out for a walk, then a bike ride and my elbows ached, I assumed I’d somehow caught them somewhere.

On Monday, I had more of the acid reflux attacks, so much so that I couldn’t get myself comfortable.  “I feel like I’m dying,” I groaned to Alison.  Thankfully, she’s a lot smarter than me and packed me off to the KeyDoc where I was seen by an apparently very inexperienced doctor (who stank of BO) who carried out an ECG on me that didn’t work and sent me to the hospital for a bloodtest with no accompanying paperwork.

I made my way to Kettering General Hospital at 8pm, my Dad kept me company and at 2am I was admitted to the Coronary Care Unit.  Sometime during the day - or maybe on the Sunday - I had suffered a heart attack (“it happens a lot,” the nurse told me cheerfully, “people think they’re having acid attacks and it’s not, it’s little heart attacks!”).  Following a sleepless night, I was second into surgery and after an angiogram to see what was going on had a stent fitted.  The doctor later showed me a video of the operation and, when I was trying to describe it later, I likened it to a SatNav image.  I’ll try it again…

Imagine the M1 cutting down the middle of the screen.  That’s an artery, the dark colour of it the life blood that’s pumping around my body and keeping everything going.  Coming off it is a thinner line, a country lane that doesn’t look wide enough to carry much heavy traffic.  The wire appears, the balloon is inflated, the stent is positioned and suddenly I’m looking at two M1’s.  “Oh,” I said, “I see.”

I spent the rest of the day in hospital, recovering and was sent home that night.  Alison & Dude were thrilled to see me and my Mum gave me a big hug.  Even Dad, who’s not overly prone to displays of affection, hugged me.  They went home, my family went to bed, I sat up and pondered how life was going to change now, how life would have to change now.  And I picked up the box set of “The Fall Guy”, put in a disk and watched it.

I watched more episodes as the week wore on, as people treated me with kid gloves and made sure everything was all right and every time I tried to do something, I was gently pushed back to my seat to take it easy.  I started to call my heart attack an episode, to try and play it down.  I was knackered, I was tired, but I was also very lucky and I wanted to get back on my feet.  As for the attack itself, the doctors reckoned that although my weight was a factor, the contributing causes were my smoking (I gave up when Alison discovered she was pregnant, ten years ago) and family history (my Grampy had several attacks, the last of which unfortunately killed him).

My holiday fortnight came and that first week - which we usually spend heading off on day trips - fizzled to nothing, our only outing being a train trip to Leicester Dude & I went on.  The second week, our time away in Wales, was wonderful but a lot more sedate than normal and I couldn’t chase around in the castle ruins like I’d have done before.

What a great excuse for a picture of The Fall Guy team!
(Douglas Bar, Lee Majors, Heather Thomas)

As the days went by I could feel myself starting to get stronger.  I’d already started losing the weight (some weeks before I saw a picture Alison took of me & Dude on the patio and I was so disgusted at the Jabba The Hutt I’d become, I decided to do something about it - cutting down on crap, more bike riding and loads of walks had lost me 17lbs before the episode), I don’t drink or smoke, but I did have to start eating more fruit & veg and I felt like I could do it.  Dude & I took to going out for a walk - of at least 2 miles a session - at least five times a week, if not six or seven.  And when we came back, after his shower, he & I would sit in a chair - him on my lap - and watch “The Fall Guy”.  He loved it (I didn’t think he would, its pace is much slower than the kids TV he now watches), it was our time and I thoroughly enjoyed it and I think he did too.  When we’d finished the first box set, he immediately wanted to watch the next so I ordered it (in case you’re wondering, series 3 to 5 haven’t been released on DVD due to ‘lack of demand’ - it would appear that Dude is the only 9 year old fan of the show).

As the weeks went by and I got better, my desire to write came back and I finished off the story I’d written in first draft before my episode.  The process was fairly smooth, I read it aloud to Alison and it worked for us both and I sent it to the editor who liked it a lot.  I worked on a second story, using images I’d picked up in Wales and the editor liked that one too.  I have another story to write, which is rolling around in my head at the moment but I’m confident about it.  With my other writing, I really want to get back to the novel, to build on the pitch and go off-tangent to it at the same time, as characters and situations suggest themselves to me.

The hospital team made an appointment for me to go in to have a second angiogram, to make sure everything was okay with the first procedure and to see if another thin artery they’d seen before was standing up to the strain.  The appointment was made for Monday 8th September so I got to enjoy the FantasyCon weekend in full before it and I’m so pleased I did.  The Con was great and it was wonderful to see so many old friends, to catch up and laugh and hug and lovely, too, to realise just how much I meant to them.  To those of you reading this who came up to me that weekend and hugged me or held my arm and looked me in the eyes and said “it’s so good to see you”, it meant so very much to me, it really did.

We were almost done with the second series of “The Fall Guy” before FantasyCon so Dude & I agreed to leave a couple of episodes over until I’d been back into the hospital.  I went in on the Monday afternoon for the angiogram and it was awful - they simulated another heart attack and for a terrible handful of minutes, it felt like someone was wringing my chest bones.  Everything was clear though and I was home by 8.30pm without a need for the second stent.  I’m due to start the Cardiac Rehabilitation Programme on the 29th and, hopefully, they’ll give me the nod to get back on my bike (Dude & I have so missed our adventures).

I feel better in myself, my strength is returning, my fitness is increasing all the time and the weight is still coming off, which is reassuring - I’ve not gone back to the takeaways or loads of sweets and it’s not been the struggle I thought it would.  But then, I look at my family and friends, I look at Alison & Dude and see them looking at me and realise that’s why.

I want to remember 2014 as my “Fall Guy” summer and I hope that Dude does too (he doesn’t talk much about the episode but I can sometimes see it playing away behind his eyes) because that 30 year old TV show managed to sand off a lot of the sharp edges caused by a couple of months of horror, pain and sobering reality and I’ll always be grateful for that.


The update:
- The Cardiac Rehabilitation Programme was a huge success for me (thanks so much to Iona and her team), they gave me a real burst of confidence to get out and get exercising (and not worry that I was going to kill myself)

- The Cardiac team at KGH were so impressed with my progress, my twelve-month assessment was brought forward and I was released from their care after six months

- Dude still worries about the whole thing (though it's lessening with time).  For months, he didn't like me going out on my own ("If I'm not there, who'll help you?") and he & I have had several long and indepth chats about it - he can see that I'm thinner, that I'm looking after myself and getting fitter, but the doubt is still sometimes in his eyes.  The British Heart Foundation produce a brilliant pamphlet called "My Dad's Heart Attack" which we read together and I think it helped, as the story in that is identical to his experience with me.

- I never did write that novel, though I've now sold a novella based on half of the pitch so that's a plus

- Dude still talks about The Fall Guy and when he leaps around, I sometimes call him Colt-junior, which makes him smile.  I wrote a blog post about the show, which seemed to go down well

- I've already blogged about my quest to lose weight and I'm pleased to say that yesterday's weigh-in saw me down to 13st 7.5lbs (a total loss of 69.25lbs and just 0.75lbs off 5st), so I'm obviously going in the right direction

- I am fitter than I have been in years, so much so that a few weeks back I played for a Dads Eleven at Dude's football team and didn't disgrace myself at all

- I'm still here, I'm enjoying my life, I'm surrounded by wonderful family and friends and I'm writing again.  What more could I want?

The State Of Me...

Me & Dude, 6th June 2015

A year ago today, I spent the afternoon sitting on our patio with Alison & Dude, enjoying the sunshine as I read “NOS4R2” (I was a judge for the BFS awards) and they made loom bracelets.  At one point, I got the camera and took some family photos but didn’t think too much of it until I downloaded them onto the laptop that evening.

I looked at myself in the pictures, one in particular and was disgusted at what I saw.  There was Dude, looking cool in his Superman t-shirt, cuddling up to Jabba The Hutt.  I knew I was overweight - looking back at pictures, I’ve been that way for a LONG time - but seeing this one image made me realise just how bad I’d got, how far I’d let things slide.  As I stared at that picture, fascinated, I decided I was going to change things.  I started dieting the next day but, since I loved my pizza and burgers and crisps, sweets and biscuits (and was afraid of falling at the first hurdle), I didn’t tell anybody I was doing it.  I started doing simple exercises in the morning - press-ups, stomach crunches - but kept them quiet too.

The first person I told was Dude, who caught me exercising one morning and asked what I was doing.  I told Alison next, though she’d already guessed something was going on.  My Mum mentioned it to me a couple of weeks later.

In the picture that disgusted me, I weighed 18st 6.75lbs (258.75lbs or just over 117kgs).  I’m 5ft 11 and even though I don’t think the BMI is a great measure, it showed mine as 35.9 and well into the “obese” end of things.  I didn’t do much exercise (I cycled with Dude but didn’t walk far), I sometimes got out of breath walking up the stairs and I was now buying, as a matter of course and without thinking of exactly what it meant, XXL t-shirts.  Staring at the picture, I knew something had to change because if it didn’t, I wouldn’t see my boy grow up (and my heart attack, less than two months away, would be a stark reminder of my mortality).

I’d got into the habit, somehow, of eating far too much crap.  Alison is a great cook, she makes lovely meals but her well balanced menu wasn’t the problem - it was the pizza (if not two) I had EVERY week, it was the burger & chips I had most weeks, it was all the chocolate bars and crisps I ate (some quite late at night), it was all the sweets I picked up over the weekend.

Feeling the cold... 
Walking in December 2014, in plenty of layers 
(scarf and sweatshirt not pictured!)

The picture gave me the trigger that I needed to make a difference.  I started walking, I took Dude out for more cycle rides, I cut the pizza down to one a fortnight, the burgers went almost completely.  I cut back on the crisps (at one point, I’d been eating 4 packs a day!), dropped the Club Orange bars from my lunchbox and replaced them with real oranges, developed a liking for chicken salad sandwiches.  I worked hard at it.  By the time of my heart attack, in early August, I’d already dropped 17lbs and it was noticeable to those around me (though I couldn’t really see it, except my work trousers were now being held up by my belt).  The cardiac episode strengthened my resolve to sort myself out, though it meant I had to take things easy for a while.  After a few sessions at the British Heart Foundation gym class, I gained the confidence to start pushing myself again.  I put the mapmywalk app on my phone, began logging the miles and soon I was doing two or three a night, more at the weekend.  Dude & I cycled until the winter air was too cold then I’d walk more (the weight loss and heart tablets meant I really felt the chill, so I’d bundle up with sweatshirts under my winter coat and body warmer).

The diet (it isn’t really a diet, it is simply a case of not eating crap) bedded itself in slowly and after a while, I didn’t really miss the chocolate or crisps (I now have one packet a day, with my lunch).  Alison taught me a trick she’d picked up at Slimming World, of a treat on weighing day so I took advantage of that and enjoyed it.  We still had chips on occasion but it was a treat, once every couple of months.  I really did miss my lovely Pinocchio’s pizza though and still have one a month, usually on the night of my writing group, then I walk for an hour or so before heading off to our meeting.

I work in Finance, I like lists, what can I say...?

That was a year ago.  This morning, I tipped the scales at 13st 11.5lbs, 193.5lbs (or 88.7kgs), a total loss of 65.25lbs.  My BMI is now 27 and I’m slightly off (the better side) the midway of overweight.  My fitness is better than it has been in decades, I easily walk a 17 minute mile and Dude & I can race upstairs and I’m only slightly more out-of-breath than him (a fit and active 10 year old).  I’m happy, I feel better than I have in a long time, I look a lot better than I have in a long time (the benefit of losing weight slowly - I averaged 1.23lbs a week - is that skin shrinks back properly so you’re not left with unsightly folds) and, more importantly, I’m doing everything I possibly can to help my heart.

There are a lot of lessons I learned from this process but the main one seems to be that if you have the resolve (and trust me, a picture is a real slap-in-the-face of a resolve), you can do it.

And just to put it all into context, this is how I looked a year ago (and no, this isn't the trigger picture...)

(it's also worth mentioning that I didn't do this completely on my own - Alison & Dude have been a fantastic support, as have my Mum & Dad (who found new routes to vary my walks) and friends, plus Iona and her BHF team who showed me just how far I could push myself.  Thank you, one and all.)

The Dude is Ten

How on earth did this happen, where did all that time go?

Ten years ago today, Alison went into hospital for a planned C-section (they were worried about pre-eclampsia, she's diabetic and Dude was huge) and I was terrified.  We went into theatre together, her attended by the nursing staff, me wearing scrubs and a hat and trying not to get in the way and I stood by her head, holding her hand as the doctors worked their magic.

Dude appeared at 3.15pm, all 10lbs 5.5ozs of him and our lives changed in that instant.  He had a very low blood sugar reading so was transfered to the Special Care Unit, whilst Alison was sent back up to the maternity ward to recuperate.  I got to give him his first feed and stayed with him for most of the afternoon and early evening, taking plenty of digital pictures and reporting his progress back to Mummy, who was laid up in bed.

He stayed in the SCU for a few days - his room-mate was a three-month old called Angel, who fitted into the palm of my hand, whilst Dude was a little sumo who filled his incubator - before we were allowed to take him home.

I was ready to be a Dad (ha, as ready as anyone ever can be), I was looking forward to that new role and it has been a never-ending learning experience since then, that has made me laugh and cry but never been less than wonderful.  Throughout Alison's pregnancy we called him nugget (because that's what I thought he looked like on the scan pictures) but that name didn't stick once he was in the world.  I can't remember when I started to call him Dude but it stuck and now, when I call him Matthew, he complains (unless he's in trouble, when we both understand why I use his given name...)

He's grown up to be a wonderful kid, who's kind and attentive and exasperating, occasionally stroppy, always funny and quite opinionated, who makes me laugh and makes me think and asks me questions because I'm Dad and know everything, who loves 80s music and going on adventures and snuggling in the chair with me to watch TV.

Ten years.  Quite possibly the best ten years of my life.

Happy birthday Dude, love you oodles...

2007

2010

Rude Dude - 2011

Photo-bombing Alison - 2013

2014

May, 2015

My part in Sue's Bloghop

I've been challenged by my fine friend Sue Moorcroft to join in the Lovely Blog Hop to talk about some of the things that have shaped my life and my writing.

At the end of this post, you’ll find links to some blogs and writers I like. The writers have all agreed to participate in and continue this Lovely Blog Hop.

me, Dude & Sheepy, April 2010.  Dude's probably forgotten this...

First Memory
As the father of a young son, it’s become increasingly obvious that whilst I’m already aware even the most vivid of memories will fade over time, when you’re a kid, they can slip away altogether.  Sometimes I’ll ask Dude if he remembers something and he’ll look at me blankly, even though I know we had a great time doing it and I have the photographs to prove it.  In my case, my first memories go back to living in Corby in the early seventies with my folks - playing with my friends, collecting Planet Of The Apes cards, the toys of the era (especially Action Man), Saturday morning pictures, Bullet comic and Spider-Man weekly.

Bearing in mind that I write horror, this is what I recall as my first memory of being scared (always good for a laugh, eh?).  When I lived there (and it's the same today), Corby had a huge contingent of Scottish folk and some of their cultural elements were brought down with them, including the Highland Gathering.  One year (I reckon it was either 1974 or 1975), my parents took me and my sister to one such gathering and we sat on the grass (near to the rope ‘fence’) and I can’t remember anything we saw, except perhaps for a motorcycle display team.  One act that I do clearly remember, however, was a bunch of clowns that ran into the ring to, I assume, distract the kids attentions whilst something was being set up.  I remember one clown in particular, a short round bloke who seemed to be completely blue, running over towards us - in my minds eye, he’s gibbering and laughing and sticking his tongue out as he waves his arms wildly in the air, but maybe didn’t happen in real life.  What did happen, though, was that I reacted - I was terrified.  I remember Dad hugging me and taking me away, I remember him explaining what clowns were and - later - I remember him assuring me that no clowns could get into the house and none of them would be hiding under my bed when I went to sleep.

I’m not coulrophobic, though they’re still not my favourite thing in the world - there’s just something about their need to hide behind a mask and caper desperately to get a laugh, that jars me.  Not nice.

Books

Me and Dude, reading on the patio, summer 2013

I can’t remember when I started reading for pleasure, but (see above) I was reading comics - Spider-Man and Bullet - from an early age and once we moved to Rothwell in 1977,that took off.  Having an excellent town library - in the old Market Square building, up a spiral stone staircase and into a dark room with what seemed like more books than the space should have fitted - and a great one at my juniors school, I embraced them.  At school, I discovered The Three Investigators series (as I’ve blogged about here) and began reading some of the books from my Dad’s shelves (though his copy of “The Fog” - with the cut-off ladies head on the cover - scared me for years).  In the early 80s, Dad took me and my sister into a second-hand bookshop in nearby Wellingborough and, because I’d heard people talking about having watched it on TV, I picked up a battered copy of “’Salem’s Lot” by Stephen King.  That was a revelation and I gobbled up as much of his work as I could, using his non-fiction exploration of the horror genre “Danse Macabre” (which I blogged about here) as a guide for further reading and I got into Clive Barker early, on King’s written recommendation.

I still love reading and often get through sixty or more books in a year.  I used to be one of those people who, once they’d started a book, couldn’t stop it midway through but life’s too short for that - I have books on my shelves that I know I’ll probably never get to, so why waste my time reading something that clearly doesn’t sit well with me?

I try to read widely across genres and take in crime, thrillers, drama, Chick-Lit, autobiographies, behind-the-scenes stuff on films, Snoopy and Calvin & Hobbes collections, some sci-fi and - of course - horror.

Libraries

Rothwell's old library, or The Market House, designed by
William Grumbold for Sir Thomas Tresham.  Construction
began in 1577.

As I mentioned above, my first experience with a public library was in Rothwell and even though it’s not in the same building any more (a new one was built on wasteground across the road in the 80s and although it’s lovely and well-stocked, it’s not a patch on the old one), I still use it and signed Dude up for his library card as soon as we were able to.  Back in the day, when research didn’t mean a few sentences typed into Google, the library was where you did homework that required the use of encyclopaedias and it was generally a treasure trove of information (and new Three Investigator books!).  Whilst that research aspect might have been replaced with laptops, tablets and smart phones, the wealth of books, the huge range of worlds that are ready to be visited with the aid of the readers imagination, is a wonder to behold.  I don’t use the library enough - and if you saw my TBR pile you’d understand why - but I passionately believe they should be there, open to everyone who wants to explore the written word.

What’s Your Passion?
My family, especially adventures with the Dude and hopefully giving him a childhood he’ll look back on favourably (assuming he remembers our adventures...).

Learning
I quite enjoyed school and have warm memories of my junior school years (I’m a Parent Governor now and although the old building is still there, the new additions mean that it doesn’t really resemble the place I remember) and my stint at Montsaye (especially the Sixth Form, which I think was the best school year of my life).  I wanted to go on to study journalism, though that never quite happened and I fell into accountancy, which led me back to night school, where I got my professional qualifications (the course was three hours a night, up to three hours a week - how on earth did I manage that?) just before Dude was born.

Writing
I’ve been writing stories for a long time, starting when I was about eight and wanted to know more about “Star Wars” so expanded the universe and put me and my friends into the various adventures.  I also wrote about Steve Austin (there were always short stories in the Six Million Dollar Man annuals and I enjoyed reading them), spies (for a while, I wanted to be either James Bond or Simon Templar) and detectives.  I didn’t write much about my own life until I went to Montsaye (our Comprehensive, or senior school), which coincided with the start of “Grange Hill” (“flippin’ ‘eck, Tucker!”), but apart from a few stories, I focussed on crime fiction (I homaged The Three Investigators with my own Three Intrepids series).  I hope I’ve come a long way since then and I love the process (though I do prefer editing to writing - I’m one of those writers who ‘likes having written’).  I don’t write as much as I would like to - there’s a lot of life going on, but I’m also still battling a couple of the demons from a serious block that struck me just after Dude was born - but I’m still there, still plugging away.  After all, whatever would I do without it?


Sue's original post can be found here.

These are the links to other blogs from writers you might find interesting. Not all of them write in the same genre as I do, but they're all very good, as is Sue herself.

Anthony Cowin
Sue Fortin
Donna Bond
Steve Harris
James Everington

Dude in print...

A chuffed Dude, with the anthology

On Monday, when I got home from work, a very excited Dude came barreling through to the kitchen to greet me.  He was clutching a copy of "Out Of This World", which features his poem "Icy Wind".

My Dude, a published poet.

I read his poem again (it's very good) and watched him over the course of the evening, as he looked at the book cover, checked out his poem and beamed, from ear-to-ear.  It reminded me a lot of the way I reacted when I first saw "Strange Tales" and also the way Dad looked at his book of my Grampy's war diaries (which I blogged about here).

My Dude, a published poet at aged nine (knocking on ten).

I was first published, in the school magazine at Montsaye, in my first year there (so I'd have been 11 - I went on to co-edit an issue when I was in the Sixth Form).  My wonderful son, the apple of my eye, has beaten me by two years.  The little git.

He's taken an interest in my writing for a good few years now (though he's never read any of my published stuff) and has helped me out a couple of times too.  I sometimes run through ideas in my head as I drive and, when I was working on my werewolf short "Last Train Home", I was thinking aloud in the car.  Dude, in the passenger seat, gave me the perfect ending and what he said is the last line of the story (he was thrilled to discover that, though I haven't let him read the rest of it).  So instead of horror, I've written a few short stories for him and we've collaborated on a couple of things and I've really enjoyed those moments.

As I've mentioned elsewhere before, I started writing fiction when I was eight, expanding the Star Wars universe or coming up with new adventures for The Six Million Dollar Man and my love of the creative process - whilst taking dents over the years - has never lessened.  I'm not sure yet how strong Dude's love for writing is but I am happy to nurture it and I hope it never goes away.

Very proud Dad.

Random Happiness...

Post-Christmas, it's been chilly in England and Dude & I have made the most of it, exploring the winter wonderland of the Rec and Mounts.  Last weekend, he was thrilled to discover that some of the puddles there had frozen over and he had a fine old time, walking on the ice and breaking bits of it up with a stick.  I remember doing the same thing when I was a kid but this time - not wanting to slip on the ice (blimey, how old am I?) - I stood off to the side, watching him and it was great to vicariously enjoy his delight.

* * *
As regular readers of this blog will know, I value my friendships.  This week, there was a programme on BBC Radio 2 that featured Sir Roger Moore (one of my all-time heroes, as if you needed reminding) and I was touched by the fact that several people contacted me to let me know.

Equally heartening was the picture my friend Gard Goldsmith posted to Facebook, featuring himself pointing at a box of Mark West wine (yep, it's a real thing).

* * *
I got an email this week from an editor, inviting me to appear in a themed anthology he was putting together.  That's always a very nice thing to have happen and, since I intend to do a lot more writing this year than I did last year, I chose my element of the theme, thanked him profusely and then thought 'oh bugger, what if I can't think of a story?'

Almost as soon as I thought that, I got an initial image that steadily grew during the day and when I went out for my evening walk - bundled up against the cold, Jarre pounding through my headphones - the whole thing slotted together nicely over the 3 miles.  It's always lovely when that happens (I wish it did more often, truth be told), let's hope it translates to the page as well.

* * *
"Drive" continues to pick up good notices and mentions in Year End Reviews, which makes me very happy indeed.  I'm keeping the section in My Creative Year post updated with the news.

(exasperated tone) Dad...

Sometimes, when Dude asks me a question (and he asks lots), I'm tempted to answer like Calvin's dad.

Not all the time, obviously, but there are certainly occasions...

Dude and those little moments...

I think it’s fairly obvious to most people who know me that I love fatherhood - Dude & I have a great relationship and I treasure it deeply.  He’s nine this year and I don’t know where the time’s gone, to be honest, but he’s managed to grow up to become a sharp, funny, caring, adventurous kid.

Some things are lifted straight from me & Alison - in his own words, he’s an “80s kid” when it comes to music (a teacher at his school played “Living On A Prayer” during a music lesson and he was the only one who knew the words) - but he has clearly defined tastes of his own and it’s intriguing to see what he likes and dislikes.

One thing that hasn’t changed is our shared love of adventures, from the train-chasing of a few years back, to the bike rides and exploring now.  Last night, I got home late from work and needed to get a new bicycle pedal but he looked crestfallen when I said we might not be able to go for a bike ride.  So we raced to Kettering, were in and out of Halfords in record time and managed to get on our ride (even if it was slightly abridged).  When we got home, as twilight was gathering, he wanted to play football so we had a kickabout in the garden (we call our variation of the beautiful game "Dudeball" because it has - shall we say - fairly elastic rules).

I stood on the patio and watched him as night came in and the ball got harder and harder to see.  Most of the time we were laughing but occasionally he’d ask me to show him something - to improve his headers, or watch his high kicks - and I looked at him and realised this was one of those moments.

You know those moments - we all get them - the ones where, when you look back, they take on a significance out of proportion with what you’re actually seeing.  I was watching an eight year old kid trying to kick his football as high as he could and laughing when it disappeared past my outstretched fingers and over next doors fence.  That was the reality but I was also watching an eight year old boy, playing with simple delight and making his mid-forties Dad feel vibrant and alive and young-at-heart.

I love being a Dad and I love my Dude, though I do often wish that time would slow down, even if just a little bit...