tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31325828210104866892024-03-13T11:25:43.477+00:00Frances GarroodFrances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.comBlogger1246125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-33164708620578410062023-01-06T21:34:00.003+00:002023-01-06T21:34:40.259+00:00Questions<p> It seems that I can write a new post, but, mysteriously, have to sign in to reply to comments, but with no indication as to how. Anyway, I suppose this is a start! Does anyone have ideas as to how to reply to comments without signing in? A lot has changed since my blogging days. In the meantime, many thanks to Meike and Dawntreader for your kind comments, and I await your (or somebody’s) advice! </p>Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-61742640559519262582023-01-04T20:45:00.001+00:002023-01-06T21:37:09.653+00:00Happy Mew Year!<p> I’ve had endless trouble trying to get back into blogland, and it never seems to last for more than one post, but if there are any of my old followers still around, have a wonderful year! I’ll not clock off, but sadly I may be gone for some time….😢</p>Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-10611224298424381722022-05-31T20:16:00.001+01:002022-05-31T20:16:30.932+01:00Hi again!<p> Spurred on by my granddaughters (thank you, Phoebe) I decided to revisit my blog, and after much faffing about, changing passwords and grappling with the wrong email address (which appeared from nowhere and wouldn’t go away) I’m back again. A lot of my followers seem to have disappeared (goodbye, and thank you) but I’d love to hear from any survivors? </p><p>In the last two years, I’ve settled into Surrey life (lovely but expensive), struggled with living on my own, but got used to it, loved being near my kids (all four are quite near), made new friends, experimented with online dating (of which more later), acquired a new grandchild, and written….nothing at all. This last is sad, but I thought perhaps this might get me back into it. Sort of.</p><p>If you read this, old or new followers, please leave a message. I promise to reply. If I can remember how…</p>Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-49645965408166189202020-10-17T20:21:00.005+01:002020-10-17T20:21:55.523+01:00I’m back...sort of<p> I know I haven’t posted in ages, but I’ve just revisited other people’s, and decided to write something....</p><p>This past year has been the worst of my life (did you need to know that?. Probably not...). John had a bad fall in June of last year, and I became a (willing, of course) carer. But he never recovered his strength, and after a gradual deterioration, he died at home, with me beside him, on 26th April. </p><p>Then of course there was Covid, affecting us all, and we were in the middle of a house move. I’m now in a small but very nice Victorian cottage in Surrey, much nearer my kids, who are all within 40 mins drive,which is much better. I’ve done no writing for at least a year, but who knows...I need to get my mojo back first.</p><p>If any of my former followers have news, I’d love to know how you are, how you’re coping with the current plague etc. Comments very welcome 😀</p>Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-59902204714934983582019-05-03T16:56:00.000+01:002019-05-03T16:56:31.975+01:00Of clothes moths<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vW2CQ3brl5o/XMxirmAI5YI/AAAAAAAAC0M/i33iA3A-uYodxoCJn0l_1sxwCpdELZYogCLcBGAs/s1600/17AC8449-AD88-463B-BCE8-6E0EA4CCC1B8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vW2CQ3brl5o/XMxirmAI5YI/AAAAAAAAC0M/i33iA3A-uYodxoCJn0l_1sxwCpdELZYogCLcBGAs/s320/17AC8449-AD88-463B-BCE8-6E0EA4CCC1B8.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
This is (was) my son’s coat. I have posted before about clothes moths, and their greedy habit of taking a bite from each garment and never making, as it were, a clean plate by finishing anything off. Well, these are doing their best with this coat, (which has now been binned). The moths have also taken bites out of most of his wardrobe, and he is despairing as to what to do. He says he’s tried everything.<br />
<br />
I feel great sympathy for him, but can’t help being fascinated, as our clothes moths conduct their business when we aren’t looking. I have never seen their larvae; only the holes they leave behind.<br />
<br />
That’s all.Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-30669839444407222772019-04-27T16:29:00.001+01:002019-04-27T16:29:50.794+01:00Room 101We are fans of the BBC programme Room 101, in which participants jettison things or people they don’t like. These are my top two:<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
1. Lol. I can’t bear it. It’s the equivalent of an exclamation mark. If something is funny, please leave it to speak for itself.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
2. Ironing. Hours spent flattening clothes. Does anyone, anywhere, like ironing?</div>
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<div>
That’s all. What would you put in your Room 101?</div>
Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-32494739713499161942019-02-22T16:51:00.000+00:002019-02-22T21:12:24.919+00:00My perfect dogI’ve seen a labradoodle and a<br />
Dachysdoodle too,<br />
But what I really, really wants’s<br />
A peke-a-pug-a-poo.<br />
<br />
I’d like to get three little dogs and<br />
This is what I’d do -<br />
I’d mix and match them til I got<br />
A peke-a-pug-a-poo.<br />
<br />
People would stop in wonderment<u>,</u><br />
And then they’d ask me: “who<br />
On earth have you got there?”<br />
I’d say: “my peek-a-pug-a-poo.”<br />
<br />
You’ll never find one in the street<br />
Or park or beach or zoo,<br />
So mine would be unique, the only<br />
Peke-a-pug-a-poo.<br />
<br />
So if I fail at writing, or<br />
The other things I do,<br />
At least I’d own the one and only<br />
Peke-a-pug-a-poo.<br />
<br />
<br />
(Except that I bet someone’s already done it...)<br />
<br />
<br />Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-10938610396011662832019-01-30T15:20:00.000+00:002019-01-30T15:20:15.071+00:00Ode to Writerr's BlockI've discovered a (another) wonderful way of wasting time: the Sonnet Generator. You feed in certain words, and bingo! A sonnet appears! This is mine, written entirely by the generator (with a few choice words supplied by me).<br />
<h3>
ODE TO WRITER'S BLOCK </h3>
My writers block, you inspire me to write.<br /> I hate the way you pounce, surprise and creep,<br /> Invading my mind day and through the night,<br /> Always dreaming about the block short sleep.<br /><br /> Let me compare you to a library?<br /> You are more frustrate and more disable.<br /> Snow chills the berries of January,<br /> And wintertime has the lead pier table.<br /><br /> How do I hate you? Let me count the ways.<br /> I hate your frustrating and unhappy.<br /> How your infuriating fills my days!<br /> My hate for you is the pop white crappie.<br /><br /> Now I must away with an impede heart,<br /> Remember my top words whilst we're apart<br />
<br />
<br />
Ps. I'm actually writing quite happily today, but thought I deserved a break...Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-42168196640730554272019-01-08T16:11:00.001+00:002019-01-08T16:11:52.145+00:00Daffodils (Especially for Graham)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
<strong>On Seeing the First Daffodils in Sainsbury's</strong><br />
<br />
I wandered lonely as a cloud<br />
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,<br />
When all at once, in Sainsbury's, lo!<br />
Bunches of golden daffodils!<br />
Behind the meat, beyond the peas,<br />
(Not fluttering, there was no breeze.)<br />
<br />
When often on my couch I lie<br />
In vacant or in pensive mood,<br />
I often dream of daffodils<br />
(I very rarely dream of food).<br />
The first bright sign spring's on the way -<br />
I have to buy some now! Today!<br />
<br />
Out go the sausages and bread<br />
The cleaning products, oh, so dull.<br />
I must buy daffodils instead<br />
Until my shopping trolley's full.<br />
I only came in for my lunch,<br />
But daffodils! A <em>pound</em> a bunch!<br />
<br />
And oh, my heart with pleasure fills<br />
And dances, as I reach the tills. <br />
<br />
<br />
(With apologies to Wordsworth, but I know he'd understand.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-52106897814019900892018-12-30T14:04:00.003+00:002018-12-30T14:06:30.011+00:00My 2019....I hope...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OCpWivnr9xY/XCZcH8FWcEI/AAAAAAAACyg/XXwZXny218w6UT5OVhsQg5cnfrqhSS6cwCLcBGAs/s1600/Family%2BBoxing%2BDay%2B2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OCpWivnr9xY/XCZcH8FWcEI/AAAAAAAACyg/XXwZXny218w6UT5OVhsQg5cnfrqhSS6cwCLcBGAs/s400/Family%2BBoxing%2BDay%2B2018.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I’m not making any resolutions this year: I’m just going to try to stick to this very wise mantra I read recently: “you are what you do today, not what you say you’ll do tomorrow”.<br />
<br />
So to all procrastinating writers - and everyone else who reads this blog - have a very happy and productive new year. Cheers 🥂<br />
<br />
(The photo is of my wonderful family on Boxing Day. It’s the first time ever that we’ve all been in a photo together, with no-one missing 😀)Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-5356368215637524342018-12-23T21:30:00.003+00:002018-12-23T21:30:33.739+00:00Happy Christmas encore<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CDUfa7muGvg/XB_9_tx0v9I/AAAAAAAACyU/vDIdCLnLCIAGBLM73hmYPr8D5fC9rwhDQCLcBGAs/s1600/Theo%2Bin%2Btree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CDUfa7muGvg/XB_9_tx0v9I/AAAAAAAACyU/vDIdCLnLCIAGBLM73hmYPr8D5fC9rwhDQCLcBGAs/s640/Theo%2Bin%2Btree.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Happy Christmas again (because I just had to use this photo of my youngest grandson)!Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-90426306598103838712018-12-21T09:30:00.002+00:002018-12-21T09:30:59.496+00:00I am a bald, impotent, randy manOh, the downside of having a name which (spelled differently) could be that of a man.<div>
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<div>
For some time, I’ve been inundated with emails from comapanies offering to increase the size of my penis (or improve the performance of the one I’ve apparently got) and to introduce me to voluptuous young women from the East. Now, these people have decided that I’m bald, as well, and are offering me a variety of hair restoring products (my hair is actually quite thick). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In vain do I send messages to say that I AM A WOMAN, but these are always ignored. So I’ll just have to put up with it.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Next time around, I’ve decided I shall simply be called Mary 🙂</div>
Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-13097544587210426422018-12-16T21:50:00.000+00:002018-12-16T21:50:30.227+00:00HappyChristmas!<br />
<br />
These final verses of a beautiful poem by John Betjeman say all that I feel about Christmas. Whether you agree or not, I hope that you all have a wonderful Christmas and (especially the writers among you) an inspirational and successful new year.<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"></span><br /></span><br />
<div class="Standard" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">And is it true,<br /> This most tremendous tale of all,<br /> Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,<br /> A Baby in an ox's stall?<br /> The Maker of the stars and sea<br /> Become a Child on earth for me?<br /><br /> And is it true? For if it is,<br /> No loving fingers tying strings<br /> Around those tissued fripperies,<br /> The sweet and silly Christmas things,<br /> Bath salts and inexpensive scent<br /> And hideous tie so kindly meant,<br /><br /> ,<br /> No love that in a family dwells,</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">No carolling in frosty air,<br /> Nor all the steeple-shaking bells<br /> Can with this single Truth compare -<br /> That God was man in Palestine<br /> And lives today in Bread and Wine.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span>(Apologies to Graham, who kindly replied to a line of this poem which escaped and made a post all on its own.)<br /><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"></span></span>Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-64658292318727787672018-12-15T10:27:00.002+00:002018-12-15T10:44:02.806+00:00Kindle boxset<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VthWEYNlDMc/XBTVQZYNlsI/AAAAAAAACx8/UdFWm2MTCqYzzGVR7rx3jgPk-Ffh9VOKQCLcBGAs/s1600/boxset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="218" data-original-width="218" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VthWEYNlDMc/XBTVQZYNlsI/AAAAAAAACx8/UdFWm2MTCqYzzGVR7rx3jgPk-Ffh9VOKQCLcBGAs/s320/boxset.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I have to say that I didn't know there was any such thing as a kindle boxset, but apparently there is, and here's mine! Quite attractive, I thought...?<br />
<br />
Sorry about the advertising, but I haven't mentioned the price (I can't remember what it is, anyway), and it's really for interest rather than with any hopes of commercial gain.<br />
<br />
Now off to make the red cabbage (my Christmas job). In a couple of hours, I, the kitchen, and every available appliance and surface will be purple. Hey ho (or hey ho-ho-ho?) - it's Christmas 😊Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-73969613067423030782018-12-04T14:32:00.002+00:002018-12-04T14:32:53.592+00:00A cautionary taleI buy a lot of things on line, and frequently send them back. This is not least because I am (as wonderful Chris, who runs a lovely gift shop in Devizes, and is incredibly helpful, says) “trying to find the perfect present”. When I receive it, it’s no longer so perfect, so quite often, back it goes.<br />
<br />
But there are pitfalls, and this morning I have fallen into every single one.<br />
<br />
1. Forgetting to fill in the form properly; the one that has to go INSDE the parcel.<br />
2. Forgetting to copy the order number from that form onto the return label (which is now inside the parcel).<br />
3. Forgetting to include the form at all. Having packed everything else up, and congratulated myself on doing it so well, I look round, only to see the form still sitting smugly OUTSIDE the parcel.<br />
4. Wondering whether I’ve filled in the form properly after all. This involves opening up the parcel again, just to make sure.<br />
<br />
I had to reopen one parcel FOUR times this morning.....I’m still wondering whether I got it right 🤔<br />
<br />
(And before anyone tells me that I should buy from proper shops, I do whenever I can.)Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-28457795412907387872018-12-03T14:04:00.002+00:002018-12-03T14:04:46.021+00:00A small boast...I hate people who boast, but today, I’m going to do it myself (I rarely have cause, so don’t worry; it won’t happen often). My novel Ruth Robinson’s Year of Miracles has been overall no. 71 in Australian Amazon kindle sales, and no.1 in all three of its categories.<br />
<br />
That’s all. 😀Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-7424608742323392982018-11-28T18:58:00.000+00:002018-11-28T18:58:11.843+00:00Visit to a mediumLast week, my daughter visited a fairly prestigious medium. She wanted some answers, and she also wanted to hear from her father.<br />
<br />
I know, I know. It’s not an especially wise thing to do, and I wouldn’t do it myself, but I have to confess to being quite excited to think that she might hear from my late husband (a close friend of hers had visited the same man about her sister, who’d died of cancer, and she was much comforted by what he said).<br />
<br />
Anyway, the meeting was not a success. Part of it went a bit like this:<br />
Medium: I think your mum is very anxious about Christmas, and where she’s going to go.<br />
Daughter: no.<br />
Medium: I’m getting a William - he’s a William - or perhaps a Bill? Does that mean anything to you?<br />
Daughter: no<br />
Medium: there’s a Sanders, or possibly Sanderson. Did you know anyone with that name?<br />
Daughter: no.<br />
Medium: when you were a child, did your father bring you back a teddy, or perhaps a doll?<br />
Daughter: no.<br />
<br />
This man aso told her that she and I were going to “cross swords” within the next fortnight. Well, we have never, ever had a row (well, not since the one occasion when she played knock and run in the village where we lived, and that was a very very long time ago.<br />
<br />
We’ve got a week to go before that fortnight is up, and we’re watching what we say very carefully.<br />
<br />
(Btw, her father sent his love, but didn’t want to talk to us. Make of that what you will!)Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-20184781065544090482018-11-24T21:52:00.001+00:002018-11-24T21:52:36.214+00:00My funeralTravelling to a friend's funeral this week set me thinking.<br />
<br />
We haven't seen this friend for a year or two, and yet we travelled to her funeral. It was less than two and a half hours' journey; why had we left it so long? And then I thought of all the other people I love but whom I haven't seen for a while. A couple of days ago, I was speaking to a close friend I haven't seen for about two years, and we both agreed that we would certainly go to each other's funerals. <br />
So why leave it until then? I have resolved to see more of my friends as soon as possible. While we're all still alive.<br />
<br />
As for my own funeral, I'd like to hold it now. While I'm still around to enjoy it. A kind of pre-funeral; putting the <em>fun</em> back into <em>fun</em>erals. Why not? I could even start a business....Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-87564824332233065472018-11-13T12:31:00.002+00:002018-11-13T12:32:02.144+00:00Remembrance<a href="https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=PHZ1Vh4RRG4" target="_blank">This</a> music by Mark Blatchly is the very moving piece which St. Paul’s Cathedral Choir used to sing in the Royal Albert Hall on Remembrance Day. My son is the boy on the right in the first row of four, tho it’s hard to recognise him at all, never mind nearly forty years on. I love this piece, and it’s my rather late tribute to the very special day that was last Sunday.Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-20448282925720480342018-11-03T13:54:00.001+00:002018-11-03T13:54:07.572+00:00Gone visiting...Rosemary Gemmell has very kindly hosted me on her blog this <a href="https://ros-readingandwriting.blogspot.com/2018/11/introducing-author-frances-garrood.html" target="_blank">Week</a>. I’m sure you’ve all heard quite enough about me already on my blog, but I’m very grateful to Rosemary for inviting me 🙂<br />
<br />
Thank you, Rosemary!Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-40754864775875121132018-10-30T15:22:00.001+00:002018-10-30T15:22:29.422+00:00”What was the name?”....said the assistant when I collected my prescription this morning.<br />
<br />
This logically would expect me to say:<br />
“Who’s name?”<br />
To which she might say, “your name”. (Ah. That’s better.) And I could go on to tell her:<br />
“Well, the name was Browne with an e. Then it was Garrood. Does that help?”<br />
It wouldn’t. Help, I mean.<br />
And then there was the second question:<br />
“What was the address?”<br />
Logical answer:<br />
“Well, the address was Bleak House, Coppenhall, Stafford.”<br />
And that wouldn’t help, either.<br />
<br />
Because my legal name isn’t Garrood any more, and neither do I live in Staffordshire. So why don’t they ask me what my name and address ARE?<br />
<br />
That’s all. As the meerkat says: simples.<br />
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(I know this is common usage nowadays, but I just want to know why. That’s all.)Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-23189122011476236192018-10-26T17:15:00.002+01:002018-10-26T17:15:39.369+01:00Waste some time. You’re worth it.<a href="https://www.facebook.com/Dawnfrenchfan/photos/a.168076799916725/2094461663944886/?type=3&theater" target="_blank">This</a> is quite fun, if you want to waste a few seconds...Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-39939739364844293012018-10-22T19:32:00.000+01:002018-10-22T19:32:17.908+01:00Money or prizes?A writer colleague of mine was asked by a prospective agent whether he wanted to write to earn lots of money or win prizes. Apparently, the two tend to be mutually exclusive (to a degree, anyway), and I can understand that. Prize winning novels don’t seem to sell in huge numbers, while best sellers tend not to win prizes (although there are, of course, exceptions. The wonderful Eleanor Olliphant is an example). I’ve read some dire Booker prize winners, and some magnificent novels that would never win prizes.<br />
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To any writers reading this: which would you prefer (prizes or riches)? As for me, I’ve long since given up thoughts of either (though what I do earn is very welcome). What I most want is for people to read my books and enjoy them. And that’s the truth 😊Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-69185454586325037522018-10-18T14:29:00.000+01:002018-10-18T14:29:36.368+01:00“Laugh out loud funny”......is the one description that really puts me off a book. It’s the literary equivalent of canned laughter, and is guaranteed to make me fail to find any amusement in a book. Humour is totally subjective. You either find a book, or a joke, funny, or you don’t, but you shouldn’t have to be told in advance. You need to find out for yourself. A funny passage in a book (for me) comes as a kind of delightful surprise, and being told that it’s going to be funny spoils that surprise. As for LOL at the end of messages, don’t get me started....<br />
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We Don’t all find the same things funny, just as we don’t all love the same pieces of music or even the same sunset. A few years ago, I read the funniest book I think I’ve ever read, and was literally howling with laughter most of the way through. I’ve no idea why that particular books has stayed with me, but it hit a big funny bone, and I remember it with great pleasure (and gratitude towards the author). But I won’t tell you the title, because if you were to read it in the future, I would already have spoilt it for you.<br />
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<br />Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3132582821010486689.post-49511134618928375232018-10-13T09:48:00.003+01:002018-10-13T09:48:52.898+01:00How to ruin a mobile phone1. Drop it down the loo.<br />
2. Give it a bath (well, you have to, don’t you?).<br />
3. Dry it, then put it in your bed.<br />
4. Turn the electric blanket on high (it will get astonishingly hot. You’d be surprised).<br />
5. Google the problem (if you want the phone to recover, miss out 1-4 and do this immediately).<br />
6. Ignore all advice to steep it in dry rice, as this might just rescue the situation.<br />
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Voila! Job done. Next step: down to the phone shop. Do not on any account tell them the above, or your phone cred will be in ruins.<br />
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(PS I hate my new phone, but am stuck with it 😫.)Frances Garroodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10614916006798375706noreply@blogger.com8