The niceness of the day is summed up by both a lovely new review on my Amazon UK page
Third nicety is the discovery that the great and wondrous Margaret Atwood is coming to speak in Bristol, our soon-to-be new hometown, so tickets have been booked for that, how thrilling. Very very few of those sorts of names come through Jerusalem, be they writers, artists, musicians, and there is always a big hoo-ha when they do. I am looking forward to being in a place where these kinds of events happen more than once every few years. Where I might actually participate in something, too. Not with Ms A of course, although I have been invited to the 11th Conference on the Short Story in Toronto next June (can I plan that far in advance??) and she is scheduled to be there too, with some other wonderful names, so, well, there you are.
I haven't done any writing today, but writing-related things. Yesterday I sat for an hour very early in the morning in certain government offices waiting for something which was not, of course, granted, but taking in my fellow applicants, the shoddy surroundings, certain bizarre juxtapositions which started my mind wandering. I am hoping that the (very early) hour was not wasted, that it may lead to a short story. It is maturating right now. Will see what emerges. I also finished the screenplay adaptation of a short story of mine for the Waterford Film Festival competition (see link on right, Waiting to Hear from...). It is such fun adapting your own stories - the story is there but you need to make changes so it works visually. I also submitted a new story to the Manchester Fiction Prize, so fingers crossed. Only a week or so left for that - get your entry in.
In other news, the plagiarism discussion in which various of us had been very careful not to "name names" has now progressed, a name has been mentioned and the person in question has been asked to explain, if he can. If you'd like to find out more, visit the thread on How Publishing Really Works.
The fallout for me with all this discussion has been a heightened sensitivity, perhaps even insecurity, when I write as to whether I am really writing my own story, or has something from somewhere else slipped in. I just have to trust that I am, but try and still remain aware. It is a delicate balance.











