MONDAY

Snacking.

As both my jobs involve a lot of sitting still at a desk, I make a conscious effort to be an active person.  Whilst not exactly Zola Budd, I do some form of daily physical exercise, be it yoga, aerobics, running…and, of course, I have to walk the dog twice, without fail, rain or shine.  I do between 15K and 25K steps a day on my FitBit. 

Despite this, my trousers got progressively tighter.  I know the older you get the harder you have to work to stay the same, but my body needed shocking out of its rut.  Stopped eating between meals.  Promptly lost half a stone within a couple of weeks.  It’s horrifying to realise I clearly graze all day because I’m at home and the fridge is a short stroll away.  It’s not that I’m eating anything particularly bad; it’s just the quantity of food I’m shoving down my neck.  Am determined to stick to new regime of only three meals a day, instead of the previous Hobbit-diet I was enjoying of Breakfast, Second Breakfast, Elevenses, Lunch, Afternoon Tea, Dinner, and Supper.  Giving up eating seems to be like giving up smoking.  I’m not hungry – at all – and yet I feel incredibly fidgety, as if I need to eat something because that’s what I’d normally be doing.  They say it takes twenty-one days to teach your body a new habit.  Only a couple of weeks in.  Wonder if I’ll make it?  Cheesy biscuit, anyone?

 

TUESDAY

K9 Kayaking.

Want to familiarise dog with being in a kayak before we get to the States.  Don’t want to waste a month of superb American weather gradually coaxing her towards the kayak by inches, when we could be using the time to jump straight in and explore instead.  Have asked local Kayak School whether they can accommodate my request.  Waiting to hear back.  Am expecting them to say no.  Would love to be pleasantly surprised to encounter genuinely ‘bespoke’ service.  Increasingly feel I’m trying to bend rigid rules a bit to accommodate my slightly off-the-wall requirements.  Surely I can’t be the only person whose life doesn’t fit into a neat little on-screen checkbox?

I did warn them in my email that this ‘training session’ could consist of the highly-qualified instructor sitting on the bank doing the crossword and never so much as dipping his paddle in the drink, while I spend two hours convincing the wary dog that a trip in a kayak is just as much fun as a trip in the car, which she loves.  Despite my pessimism, The Jolly Kayakers later responded saying they could accommodate my request!  Just need to buy a wetsuit, a doggy lifejacket, and book some sessions while the sun’s still out.  Considering it’s only floating a small dog down a river, am absurdly excited about this – but some effort now will translate into easy, breezy times next year!

WEDNESDAY

Photogenic, moi?  Non.

Need to get some more portrait photos done for marketing purposes, as my last crop of proper pics must be four years’ old.  Don’t even look the same.  Tried to take a couple against white background.  Discovered two things.  One: portrait photography is a skill – you don’t just point and click with your Smartphone and hope technology’ll sort it out.  Two: I don’t take a good picture, folks!  It’s something to do with the wrinkles, the squinty eyes, the tombstone teeth, the double chin, and the turkey neck.  Spent twenty minutes gurning and clicking in the corner of the bedroom, then gave it up as a bad job.  Need to ring the professional photographer I use and book another studio session with her.  At least then in my marketing stuff I’ll actually look like me again, instead of a stranger from way back when.

THURSDAY

Raw in tooth and claw.

A day of closer-than-usual encounters with nature.

The dog’s eyesight is pretty bad.  We’ve trotted past many a rabbit in a hedgerow; if it keeps still, she has no idea it’s there.  I look at bunny, motionless bunny stares back at me, and the dog bimbles cluelessly past.  This morning, she walked right over a stationary toad, sitting stock-still like a rock on a woodland trail, and pootled happily off into the distance, once again missing out on something superbly sniffable and eminently chaseable.  I squatted down and had a good look at the toad in case he was hurt.  The toad squinted enigmatically at me while I took his photo.  He seemed fine, so I left him to it and carried on my merry way.  Observe, don’t disturb.

Back on the front doorstep, key in the door, I heard a deafening, droning buzz above me, like someone going mental with a power tool.  Looked up.  My dodgy eyesight identified a swirling murmuration of starlings at impossible height – before my brain recalibrated, and I realised what I was looking at was not a swooping flock of pinprick-sized birds at incomprehensible height, but a massive swarm of bees a mere three feet above my head, travelling at unbelievable speed, obviously searching for new digs.  I’d never seen a swarm on the move before; only gathered on fences, walls, or trees.  The sheer number of insects and the throbbing noise of their wings was incredible.  I just stood on the doorstep gawping at them until they were gone.

Later, in the office with the door wide open, trying to get the !!*%@! printer to work, in swooped a swallow, executed a graceful circuit right around my crouching form, and zoomed out again so fast I was unsure it had even been there. 

I do love living in the country.  You never know what you’ll see next.

FRIDAY

Tetchy.

Need to get my head down and crack on with some UK pitches of ‘Many The Miles’.  Hawking your wares is part and parcel of this job, but weathering a degree of inevitable rejection never gets any easier.  I think my hide’s reasonably thick, but someone telling you ‘No offence and all that jazz, but you’re not good enough for me to take a punt on…’ still stings a bit. 

Agent biogs assure the world they’re on the lookout for something new…but that seems to be code for ‘please send me the kind of something new that’s exactly the same as everything already out there, because then I know I can safely sell it’.  Can’t blame ‘em…but, God, it can be disheartening sometimes.  That’s why I only pitch a batch of work every few months.  It takes me that long to pick my confidence up off the floor and bolster it sufficiently to face the drubbing again.  Normally, you include a covering letter with a pitch, introducing (justifying) your book.  The older I get, the more tempting it becomes to cut the fluff and write a truthful letter, instead of a polite one:

‘Come on.  Take a little risk, just this once.  People like my stuff.  It’s to read on the train, while away an airport delay, dip in and out of on the beach.  It’s easy, not highbrow.  I sell.  I’d sell a heap more steered by the practical direction of a savvy agent towards the hefty marketing budget of an enthusiastic publisher.  I’m presentable.  I can talk to people.  I can public speak.  I’ll go where you send me, press whatever flesh you want (in a manner of speaking), and I’m prolific.  I bash out at least a book a year, sometimes two.  I won’t embarrass you…and, you know, there’s a pretty damn good chance you’ll make very decent money out of me indeed. 

What?  No, I don’t write about teenage wizards or vampires, I’m afraid.  They do nothing for me.  Sorry?  No, I’ve never written anything you could make into an identikit Tom Cruise/Liam Neeson/Matt Damon* film (*delete as applicable), and I’m quite proud of that. 

What’s that you say?  Not a good fit with your list?  You do surprise me.’

Tetchy today, aren’t I?  Think I’ll go and cut the hedge until it passes…

 

Annie Holder writes pacey thrillers, twist-filled crime novels, and unconventional romances – set all over the world.

You can find out more about her books at www.annieholder.com, and follow her on Instagram www.instagram.com/alhwriter/