Here’s a tip: if you’re feeling a bit down, sad, depressed or fed up in any way, DO NOT under any circumstances watch Brokeback Mountain!

Sometimes Mike and I talk about emigrating to Canada. This often happens when the Government comes out with yet another truck-load of monumental stupidity, incompetence, interference or whatever (in this instance, a brilliant plan to keep tabs on every single person in the country’s emails, texts and phone calls, no less. That’s going to be popular, isn’t it? Can they not manage to open and photocopy all our post, while they’re at it?). We go into grumpy old git mode and decide that the UK is completely down the pan and things can only get worse. We have dear friends in Canada and stay with them most years. Mike’s quite enthusiastic about the idea of living over there, and I can see the advantages of their more sensible house prices and fine quality of life, and the chance to spend winters in Florida or California (as opposed to freezing your bits off in Ontario)… but my problem is that I can’t bear the thought of leaving England. Good grief, I was even homesick for Leicestershire until I moved back here! The idea of living in Canada is fine, but the thought of leaving England most definitely isn’t. It’s my HOME, darn it, with all its flaws. Nowhere else could ever be as green and familiar and ordinary and magical and just… English. Okay, it’s only talk, but to me, even thinking about leaving sometime in the far future is heartbreaking.

So still feeling a little upset from that conversation, the next morning I decided to watch Brokeback Mountain while eating my breakfast, in order to delete it from the general clutter of films on our digi recorder. What a mistake! I think it was mid-day before the tears finally cleared enough for me to see my PC screen!

On a less maudlin note, I’ve finally uploaded an avatar. This represents a nice memory. It was taken by a friend of mine when she came to stay in May just gone, and we went for a gorgeous walk in lovely, lovely bluebell woods.

Everything happens at once – just as I’m trying to make some serious headway with my novel (Midsummer Night, is the provisional title), a reminder comes that I need to edit the text of A Blackbird in Amber Twilight ready for publication (by Immanion Press) in the autumn. In theory, I can manage this by allocating my time better, so that when I’m feeling alert (it happens occasionally) I can write new stuff and when the creative energy runs out, I can edit instead. Easy! However, you can guarantee that this master plan will be disrupted, most likely by the heavy THUD of the Elfland manuscript arriving from Tor for copy editing. Oh, and then there’s the matter of the third Blackbird book I’m meant to be writing. It’s good to be busy but there is a limit!

It's a beautiful day, and the garden is full of birds. Talking of blackbirds, I should explain about Mr Criss-Cross. Every blackbird apparently has its own signature tune, a sort of jingle that it repeats while singing as if to identify itself. For example, our much-missed Blackie used to preface his song with car alarm noises, and his predecessor used to sing up and down two notes, ‘Da-doo-da-doo, da-doo-da-doo.’ The dominant male now residing in our garden has a favourite refrain which goes, ‘Oo-ee toot-ta-toot WHEE-WHAY!’ The final ‘whee-whay’ reminds me of someone drawing a flourishing letter X in the air… so I call him Mr Criss-Cross. H’m, that sounds barking mad, doesn’t it? Maybe I’m spending too much time alone in my study…

As for technophobia, this morning I dragged myself out of the stone age at long last by applying to upgrade from dial-up to broadband. I’m terrified! To my mind, all new technology is bound to go Horribly Wrong. The cables won’t be long enough. The software will crash my PC. The connection won’t work. I’ll waste endless hours on the helpline from hell. And so on. This is what’s known in Cognitive Behavioural Therapy as ‘catastrophising’. I believe I learned this unhelpful habit from my mum, who can read the *end of civilisation as we know it* into the most benign situation... So armed with that self-knowledge, I’ll try to stop imagining the worst and instead look forward eagerly to my ‘easy install’ pack. Wish me luck! I’ll post how I get on… if I still have an internet connection, ha ha.

Those inverted commas around ‘easy install’ weren’t meant to seem sarcastic, but I think they did, a bit…

My birthday last Sunday was lovely. Just a nice relaxed day – okay, I did spend part of it cleaning floors and filing paperwork, but after those chores were done I felt I’d ‘earned’ a relaxing afternoon. So in the afternoon, I started making a teddy bear. It’s been too long since I did any craftwork and my birthday seemed a good time for a new start. When I’m not writing, I like to make stuff! Mike took me out for a meal in the evening to our ‘special occasion’ Thai restaurant. Yum. And my mum gave me a ruby ring. Not for any special reason, just that I like gemstones and jewellery, especially rings, yet I have never in my life owned a ruby ring before. A few weeks ago, I felt a deep need for rubies – red symbolises energy (besides passion) and I definitely need some energy! So, after trawling through 100s of ruby rings on the net, generally being disappointed by the boring designs and/or horrified by the prices, I finally found a little beauty, a Victorian-style design of five large rubies set in rose gold. I ordered it, mum kindly reimbursed me. It’s so gorgeous I’ve barely taken it off since. It’s incredibly comfortable, too. Thanks, mum!

The night before, we were watching Dr Who (‘Turn Left’). I can’t help being impressed by the way the writers create a sense of the vast and epic, with sweeping storylines that make the viewer feel caught up in something really Big and Important. Part of the technique is using highly recognisable and emotive images (refugees on lorries, people being billeted in terraced streets) evoking war-time evacuation. We’ve all seen war films, we all recognise those situations, and they are a highly effective short-cut to emotional effects. Very clever button-pushing. And because it was my birthday the next day, it set me thinking that I have been watching Dr Who for almost my entire life! I may have forgotten a lot from my early childhood but I distinctly remember seeing the very first episode in its ghostly greys, the somewhat mad-looking elderly white-haired doctor, the ‘normal’ young couple discovering the police box for the first time. Some of those early stories (anybody remember the Celestial Toymaker?) gave me a thrilling sense of shivering weirdness that stayed with me and no doubt influenced my own imagination – there was just something about those black and white days! The Quatermass dramas had the same effect, and some episodes of the Avengers. It was never quite the same when they went into colour. And despite the lean years where there were a lot of duff episodes, and then no Dr Who at all, it feels wonderful to have the continuity of an SF drama that’s ‘always been there’, that’s grown up with us, as it were. Okay, it’s only a TV programme, but it feels bigger than that. Dr Who makes me feel (especially after a glass of wine) part of something big and strange and thrilling. Can’t wait for the finale. Won’t those Daleks ever give up? Is it me, or are Billie’s teeth getting bigger and bigger?

I wonder if they would ever dare cast such a ‘mature’ actor as William Hartnell in the role again. Somehow, I doubt it. But if they ever had the guts to cast a mature and female doctor, my nomination would go to Judi Dench.

So now I’m trying to get back into the writing spirit after three days of total vegetation at Ragdale Hall (a splendid health spa near Melton Mowbray). My mum came with me – we’ve been several times in the past, so going there now feels rather like coming home. We had the world’s noisiest thrush outside our bedroom window which sang from dawn until dusk like a cross between a wolf-whistling builder and a Dalek. Noisy, but strangely delightful! The wildlife in the gardens was wonderful. We even saw a hare running along the border between the gardens and the adjoining farmland – it was so close it almost ran straight into us. (Mainly, I’m glad my mum was fit enough to fully enjoy and participate in everything, after a protracted bout of sciatica last year.)

Here’s an interesting bit of info if you spend hours on the PC and have neck and shoulder problems, as I do. I had an amazing sports/remedial massage from a strong young man who clearly knew his stuff. He found pains in places where I didn’t even know I had places! He said that if you habitually work in front of yourself (it’s a little difficult to work behind yourself, I would’ve thought...) on computers as many people do, it can make the muscles at the FRONT of the neck and chest contract. He found that mine were very tight indeed. He said that although you feel the pain at the back, the problems are really coming from the front. If you don’t correct it, the muscles continue to pull forward and eventually the spine will follow, becoming curved – what a horrible thought. So he’s given me some stretches to practise every day to counteract it. Funny, I’ve had a few back massages in my time but I have never been told this vital information before.

Our favourite area at Ragdale now is their brand new thermal spa, which has a variety of unusual steam rooms, including a couple that are just warm rather than uncomfortably hot, where you can sit and inhale herbal scents, or gaze at gentle scenes from nature drifting across the ceiling. Even the showers are fun – offering ‘tropical thunderstorms’ or a blast of cold menthol mist. Then there’s the Waterfall Pool; a sort of extraordinary Jacuzzi that meanders right out into the gardens, offering various massage stations and waterfalls – absolutely delightful. For my absolute favourite experience, it was a tie between that and the Candle Pool, a magical underwater cavern lit by candles and coloured lights, full of intimate rounded ‘cells’ where you can lie and relax in the warm water. All very sensuous. Oh my goodness, I could have stayed in there all day. Water is definitely my element! Strangely all this sensory stimulation and determined RELAXATION is exhausting – it took us a couple of days to get over it and readjust to the real world! Now this whole entry reads like an advert for Ragdale Hall but honestly, they are not paying me. If only!

So now I’ve reached Chapter Nine of my current novel and I’m stuck. I know what is going to happen but I don’t know how to get there. However I’ve got bits of Chapter Ten written, and also a load of scenes that tell the part of the story that happened in the past… Flashback scenes, of a sort… and I haven’t yet worked out how they will fit into the story. Opinions on weaving in flashbacks, anyone?

I found the following, extracted from two reviews of A TASTE OF BLOOD WINE on Amazon…

‘I'm so glad to see that this excellent trilogy is back in print, even if it is just as an import for now - hopefully whoever has the UK rights will realise what they are sitting on and make these great books available to a wider readership. Freda Warrington is one of the best and most unjustly neglected horror and fantasy writers today - surely we should be nurturing homegrown (UK) talent of this calibre?’ … ‘Make no mistake, this trilogy rates as the best within the vampire genre. I don't say this lightly either, especially when you consider how this sphere of fiction has been milked for all it's worth… Freda is an exception and must, at some stage, consider dipping her pen into the arena again, to show the rest how it is done so perfectly....so 'believably'. I must admit to being ignorant of Warrington's fantasy writings, and was beginning to think she was either dead or had bowed out gracefully. Time for a resurrection!’

Well, not quite dead yet, not the last time I looked, anyway. To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, I suppose the only thing worse than being Unjustly Neglected is being JUSTLY Neglected! 

I’ve just read The Amethyst Child by Sarah Singleton, which I picked up at her Eastercon signing. I had no idea what to expect of this young adult novel and it turned out to be a terrific read. It’s not fantasy as such, although it does have a distinctly magical atmosphere. Amber is a teenager with whom it’s easy to empathise – she feels an outsider, too sensitive and uncool to fit in, sometimes embarrassed by her conventional parents, tending to keep her head down and say what people what to hear, rather than speak her mind. She torments herself over universal concerns such as global warming, war and terrorism. Then she meets Dowdie, who is everything Amber would like to be – outspoken, fearless, flamboyant. An enchanted friendship begins as Dowdie takes her to the Community, a cult which is making ready to survive the end of the world. According to their leader, a higher power has informed him that special ‘Amethyst Children’ are being born who will shape the future with unusual and psychic powers. Dowdie convinces Amber that she is an Amethyst Child. The Community have an easy-going, welcoming, self-sufficient lifestyle that appears idyllic on the surface. However, Amber also meets a lonely, artistic, depressed boy, who tries to warn her that the leader of the cult is not all he seems. Her loyalty is torn and she doesn’t know who to believe.

There is so much to this book, about growing up and families and relationships, it’s hard to know where to begin praising it. It’s beautifully written, self-aware and full of wisdom, reaffirming my opinion that YA fiction is so often more intelligent and insightful than much ‘adult’ fantasy. The denouement, where matters at the cult go inevitably, horribly wrong, was so shocking and powerful that it haunted me for days. Highly recommended.

At this time of year, the world feels as if it's absolutely bursting with energy. Vegetation exploding into life, birds singing, days of warm sun and, today, an exhilarating mix of sunshine and refreshing breeze. All this activity is, to be honest, making me feel a bit tired!

Had a lovely few days with my friend - on the Saturday we went shopping, and on the Sunday we went down to an art exhibition by Anne Sudworth, held at Strawberry Hill House, Twickenham. It's a remarkable 'little Gothic castle' which is about to close for complete renovation. On the Monday we went to a craft fair at Calke Abbey, Derbyshire, where it was so sauna-like inside the marquees that I don't know how the poor stall-holders could bear it. Bought some lovely pictures of hares, exotic-scented soap, and a ceramic frog of immense personality. Tuesday, we went walking in fabulous bluebell woods, had a pub lunch, then did more walking and discovered a hill with amazing views from the top. I'll try to post images, once I work out how to do it!

Most importantly, we had some in-depth talks about our respective novels-in-progress. I can't emphasise enough how helpful it can be to share writing ideas and problems with like-minded writers. Thanks to some no-nonsense input from my friend, I sorted out all the tangles with the outline I'm writing for my agent!

Writing outlines is such a pain. If the book is already finished, it's easier, but also kind of pointless because, er, the book is finished. If the book is in progress, or even not yet started, it can be hard unless you already know every nuance of your plot - and also still pointless, because you know how very much the book may change during the actual writing. And yet, it has to be done because editors need to see outlines! Even thought it might not yet be fully formed in your own mind, you have to put something together that sounds like a cohesive, convincing story. So input from a friend that suddenly turns the little lightbulb on is priceless! 

Now it's time for breakfast, and finishing synopsis number three...

Result of dawn chorous watch: two blackbirds and a robin, accompanied by a background of assorted twittering. Later, a song-thrush and a greenfinch joined in. I get the feeling that song-thrushes like to perform solo, though, and as for greenfinches, do they ever shut up?!? They are fantastic personalities - almost all garden birds, in fact, are wonderful and so full of character, I just can't resist them. I'm not a fan of magpies, because they scare the other birds, or of pigeons, beccause they tend to sit in the middle of the food we've put out for smaller birds and and eat until they are almost too fat to take off. Apart from those rogues, we take great pleasure in our garden birds. Blackbirds, robins, starlings, dunnocks, sparrows, greenfinches, great and blue tits, the occasional chaffinch or wagtail, sometimes a pair of bullfinches and flocks of long-tailed tits and goldfinches. We discovered that putting raisins out attracts lots of blackbirds. In fact our garden was ruled for three years by a true Alpha male blackbird, Blackie, who soon trained us to give him raisins to order.

If he saw someone in the house, he would fly at the windows - didn't matter if you were in the bedroom, study or bathroom, he knew where you were and would flap around until you fed him! He would perch on the kitchen door handle and wait impatiently, even hopping in over the threshold if you were taking too long. If we were sitting in the conservatory, he would come and fix us with a beady stare until we caved in. He was, however, a gentleman - once the raisins were in place, he would stand back and let his missus feed first. All day long he would treat us to his loud melodic singing, especially at dusk. And he must have brought at least five lots of beautiful fledglings into the garden. I suspect he may have had two nests on the go. My mother christened him, 'The Unstoppable Sex Machine.'

Sadly, we don't see him any more. I like to think he has simply moved to pastures new, rather than died. Our most regular blackbird now is 'Father Ted', so called because of the distinctive white collar of feathers around his neck. He is a lot shyer than Blackie, though, who wouldn't stand nonsense from anyone. I still miss him!

Weather today is absolutely incredible - does it not know it's Bank Holiday? My friend is here and we've been to a craft fair - all is right with the world!

Wow!  I've only written one entry and about nine friends have shown up already! Fantastic. Thank you Steph for the lovely mention! It has to be said, so far I prefer LJ it to MySpace. I did start a MySpace page, but it was mysteriously deleted for (as far as I could see) no reason whatsoever. When I emailed them to ask why, they told me that I may have breached one of about a thousand rules. Fine, but WHICH ONE? Tell me so I don't do it again! But they didn't. So that was a little frustrating. Anyway, it just strikes me as being rather more user friendly here.

It has been a gorgeous day, despite threats of rain. It seemed to me the leaves were awfully late coming out this year, but maybe I think that every year... I'm so desperate to see the new greenery that I expect all the trees to spring forth on the 1st of April, but it's closer to May before they really get going. Spring is my favourite time of year. I like autumn too... transitional times. And apparently it's 'dawn chorus weekend'! I shan't be heading out into the countryside at 5am, but if I manage to wake up that early I will open my window and lie there listening to the birds going at it in full force.

This morning I went to a yoga class with my mum, and the rest of the day I have been doing housework. It had to be done because, excitingly, I've got a friend coming to stay tomorrow for a few days. She's a writer too, which means we can share the chapters we're working on, give mutual feedback, and just spend as long as we like chatting about writing, reading, ideas, etc etc.. Luxury. I've been very lucky over the years to find a handful of friends who are on a similar wavelength, writing-wise. It's enormously helpful to bounce ideas off each other, especially when you're stuck on something.

My dad used to do a jigsaw every Christmas (er, a different one, not the same one every year...) and while he was working on it, every time I entered the room he would always gesticulate at the half-finished puzzle and say, 'It needs a fresh eye.' Every single time! But he was right and it's the same with writing. It needs a fresh eye. In fact the 2 outlines I'm working on emphatically need it, as I try to shape them from a sprawling mess to something that makes some kind of sense...

Mike (my hubby) although generally wonderful, is not always totally helpful when it comes to working out plots. 'Have someone burst in with a machine gun and kill them all,' he will cheerfully suggest. So I'm very excited at the prospect of sharing problems with my friend who is likely to suggest something rather more, er, constructive!

Blog beginner here.

I've always kept a diary, mainly because my memory is scatty. If I think, 'when did I first meet so-and-so?' or 'what year did we go on that trip?', I like to be able to look it up.  A blog is a bit different, though. Emphatically not private. I find gossip a bit of a naughty pleasure but I'm aware that probably shouldn't type, 'Ooh, I can't believe what X did!' because, er, X might read it...

Anyway. I'm a writer, Freda Warrington. You might know me from 'A Blackbird in Silver' or 'A Taste of Blood Wine'. I enjoy reading other writers' blogs so I hope people will enjoy mine too. It's a spendid way to share our thoughts on writing, all the difficulties and rewards of along the twisty path of writing a novel.

My 18th novel, Elfland, is being published by Tor (US) and I'm now at work at my second book of three for them. It's not, however, going to be a trilogy! I have sworn not to write trilogies any more... only stand-alones. More of that soon... right now, it's lunchtime.