My Little Notepad

So, I’ve been writing a while now. At least a few months. And I sent off my first book manuscript, let’s see, 5 months ago? It’s time and more that I was published. Don’t these publishers and agents realise what they’re missing out on? The millions I could make them (and me)? Well, panic no longer. This post will explain exactly why I’m the person you should all be signing IMMEDIATELY, and I shall sit next to the phone once I’ve pressed ‘Publish’ to accept your calls. And your grovelling apologies for not calling sooner.

1. I’m a genius. Children have never read books like mine. I have a way with the written (or typed) word that makes it sing on the page. Children all over the world will have literacy scores through the roof after reading my books. Well, book (see below).

2. I’ll only bother you once. My book is so good, it will keep us all rich and happy for many, many years. There’s no need to write more than one, in fact I’m not even bothering right now. Hear that? That was the sound of all my works-in-progress going in the bin. And that other noise was the cork popping out of the bottle of wine I’m opening to drink instead of writing.

3. I need no editing. I’ve been over my manuscript a couple of times, I know it’s great. Therere absolutly no speling errors, typox or grammer mistakes for you to worries about. I’m a pro. So you’ll actually be saving money on an editor by publishing me.

4. I don’t need an illustrator. I’ve got kids, they can do the drawings. It’ll add charm and character. And again, it’s cheaper. Lots of lovely royalties for us.

5. I’ll be easy to market. Stay at home mum writing with young children? A money maker. If you want me to add a touch of extra pathos, I’ll stash my husband under the patio and ba-boom! I’m also a young, tragic widow. He won’t mind, he’ll know it’s in a good cause.*

6. I’m good to work with. As long as you give me your undivided attention, with a phone call or lunch on the house a couple of times a week, I’ll be happy. Oh, and do try to control the fans, please?

So there you have it. Six reasons why you should be signing me up before someone else snaps me up and you regret your missed opportunity forever.

*no husbands were harmed in the making of this post.

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fun, publishing, Writing

I’d like to see a post on Twighlight vs Harry Potter please. Apparently that is incredibly important in the world of 14 year olds.

If you’ve been following my blog at all over the last few months, you may remember a post here about needing a challenge in my writing, so I asked people to leave a comment with a particular topic for me to write about. I’ve had a bit of a gap since the last one, but I’m taking up the baton again. So, thanks to Rebecca for this one, and I’ve now done my homework. Such a hardship, having to read four new books. Sigh, the things we writers do for our art…

First off, this is absolutely NOT a discussion of the theological or moral arguments around either Twilight or Harry Potter. I’m happy to write about my thoughts on this but this isn’t the place. If you’re interested in hearing my views, say so in the comments and a post shall be forthcoming. This one, however, is purely around the merits of either series as stories, in my own humble opinion. Second, THERE ARE SPOILERS! If by some miracle you haven’t read either of these yet and you want to, don’t read this post. Bookmark it and read it later, once you’ve read the eleven books in question (I’m not counting Bree Tanner as that’s a spin-off).

Ok. Now that’s out of the way, I really enjoyed both series. I resisted reading Harry Potter for so long out of a kind of mis-placed snobbery – there was Potter-mania, and I was determined not to read them just because everyone else was. When I did, I absolutely loved them and devoured each book as it was released. When Twilight was released, I resisted for different reasons – I knew it was about vampires and I have a kind of love/hate relationship with vampire stories. Also I was broke and there were other books I wanted to buy first. But when I did read them for this assignment, I enjoyed them and found the storyline rather compelling. Overall though, I think the writing in Harry Potter is better than Twilight. Rowling gives me more of a connection to the characters, the language was lighter and more engaging without losing any of its power. If asked to recommend a series for a 14 year old, I would certainly choose the Harry Potter ones.

I found the Potter books more universal in appeal as well if I’m honest. They deal very well with a range of issues that adolescents face, including but not limited to relationships and insecurities, whereas the Twilight books concentrate more on a young girl’s intense love and her own deep-rooted insecurities without really expanding from that theme. They did, however, deal more thoroughly with these issues.

In terms of storyline, obviously both series have a similar arc in that the protagonists deal with varying degrees of danger both to themselves and their loved ones and as they grow the danger also increases. In both series, too, the threat is almost always targeted at the one specific teenager rather than a general threat to mankind.

The story for the Twilight saga was, as I said, compelling, and I wanted to find out what happened to Bella, Edward and Jacob. I certainly did not expect the harmonious resolution to their triangle. BUT, this brings me neatly on to the problems I have with the series.

I found it just a little too safe. This may seem bizarre in a series where a young girl is fairly constantly fighting for her life against vampires and werewolves. But that’s the problem. She always won – in fact no, she was always saved. This isn’t as heartless as it seems – it’s just that the happy endings were just a little too contrived, and fortuitous. There was a lot of arriving in the nick of time – in every situation to be honest. In a book of our current era, starring a pretty feisty and strong girl, it seems little backwards to have the damsel in distress always rescued at the last moment, and this was only saved by the use of her shield in Breaking Dawn. This, though, wasn’t the resolution, which happened when Alice arrived in the nick of time with the evidence needed to stave off the Volturi attack. And, also, every fight situation ended happily, in every book. No-one that we cared about lost. I have two problems with this. First of all, tension-wise, in a series I would have thought it would be better to have some losses to ratchett up the suspense a little. If you think everyone is always safe, why bother about the outcome of the next fight? For example, in Star Wars – Han Solo seems lost in The Empire Strikes Back, and you need to watch Return of the Jedi to find out if or how he’s saved. Yes, you kind of know he will be, but it looks tense. More pertinently, in Harry Potter, Dumbledore dies. How, HOW can Harry go on without Dumbledore? How does he have a chance without his mentor? How can Sirius die – the first adult to take responsibility for Harry and provide a pseudo father-figure?

Secondly, it doesn’t fit. In a series which discusses intense relationships, sex, violence in some pretty graphic detail (dismemberings and beheadings occur frequently as well as burning bits of vampire on fires), supernatural monsters and drinking human blood, you might expect more casualties. No-one dies other than a couple of villains, a few human extras and one very minor character at the end of Breaking Dawn. Now, I am all for the victory of good over evil. I think it is absolutely right and proper that the bad guys are punished and the good guys aren’t, especially in what is marketed as a teenage book. But in the interests of a good story, surely there should be a little more tension than that? As I said, in Harry Potter there are actual casualties, people we care about. The final battle kills off one of the Weasly twins, Lupin and Tonks, and more. It’s upsetting, because we’ve come to care about these people, but it’s more real and it makes the survival of the protagonists more meaningful because you can see they were actually in danger. In the Twilight world, the good guys are, apparently, never in real danger because it’s always going to be a happy ending. This is good because you do care about the characters – the good guys really are good, Alice in particular is wonderful, but it does take away from the tension a little. To be honest, by the third book Bella’s preface, just as she’s about to die for someone she loves (yes, in every book), was getting a bit tiresome rather than suspenseful. Now, if you decide that your teen is old enough to deal with the issues discussed above, and to deal with the idea of a vampire romance, then surely they are old enough to deal with characters dying? Not the main ones – this is still young fiction after all, but important ones nonetheless?

I know the later Harry Potter books have been criticised for being a little too dark, too many deaths, and I would certainly want to feel that my children were mature enough to cope before they read them, but after all, fiction is one place where kids can explore issues like death and bereavement safely. And in defence, Harry Potter has the death without the gore. Twilight has the gore without the death – the visual without the substance. Without addressing grief and bereavement and mortality, it glorifies violence and gore. This is, to me, a disappointment in what is otherwise a very enjoyable series.

Character-wise, I think both books are very good. Twilight has a heroine almost all teenage girls can identify with, heroes girls would give their right arm for and an engaging supporting cast. Of the main three, Bella is a little on the depressive side for my taste, but Edward and Jacob are lovely, and their triangle is very interesting as the power shifts around. The relationship between Edward and Bella is very intense and believable (leaving the immortality aside!), and probably key to the series’ popularity. The idea of an incredibly attractive man waiting for decades or centuries, searching through the most attractive women possible, for his soul mate and deciding that you are it, with all your frailties and ordinariness, is intensely powerful and has drawn women to vampire romances for years.

Harry Potter has a wonderful cast of characters, who probably make bigger journeys than the Twilight crew – perhaps excepting Jacob. The fact that they are all ordinary teens who grow and develop and deal with minor issues like spots and dates as well as fighting the forces of evil speaks to all readers, who have been through the same torments themselves – apart from, I’m assuming fighting the forces of evil! It gives us hope that even we can fight evil if needed to, even we can rise to the occasion.

In conclusion, because I know this is a LONG post, I have to say that both series are excellent, with good plots and strong characters. Whatever my personal opinion on the weaknesses as I perceived them, there is no doubt that they are appealing, and I can only hope that in years to come my own books are read enough to provoke a blog post from someone about them. My preference though, has to go to Harry Potter. If you’ve read this and haven’t read the actual books yet, and haven’t been put off by the spoilers, here’s a link to Stephenie Meyer on Amazon and here is J K Rowling.

This is, of course, all my own opinion which is only of value to me and hopefully of interest to you! I’d be delighted if you commented on any of the points I’ve made, in agreement or otherwise, and please let me know if anyone is interested in the theological or moral aspects as I mentioned earlier.

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bella, breaking dawn, children's books, dumbledore, eclipse, edward, fiction, harry potter, hermione, jacob, jk rowling, new moon, ron, stephanie meyer, teenage, twilight, Writing

I am humming and ha-ing over the idea of signing up for NaNoWriMo this year.

Writers reading this are probably thinking “Yey, I’m not the only lunatic!”

Non-writers reading this are thinking “Is that even a word?”

NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month – although really it should be International Novel Writing Month, as people from all over the world sign up for the mayhem. Er, I mean, challenge. And it does just what it says on the tin. You write a novel in a month. If you don’t believe me, look here. The basic idea is to achieve 50000 words between 1 and 30 November, for which you get a lovely badge for your blog, and an excuse to open a bottle of champagne before collapsing in a crumpled heap. You will be excused for saying something along the lines of “Why? Why would you do that to yourself? Why, Becca, WHY?” I know that refrain keeps screaming in my own head.

I heard about this last year, and was tempted to join in, but a) I was into November when I heard about it and b) I still had very little confidence in my writing. This year I have been given a huge boost by all you lovely people that I can actually string two words together, I have formed very real and strong friendships with other writers who are joining too and, unbelievably, I have a plan.

Now, 50000 words is a heck of a lot of words to write in 30 days. I think the daily word count is something like 1660 words to reach the target – achievable, but, um, challenging. But in actual fact it is a short novel, more of a novella. Or a children’s novel. Which is lucky, because that’s what I’ve got planned. So after November, there shouldn’t be too much to add to it, before I go through and rewrite that draft into something that makes sense. If you clicked on the link above, you’ll have seen that the finished 50000 words doesn’t have to be refined or edited, it is pure word count that counts and it’s up to you to do something with it afterwards. And I have been privileged to chat with people who have turned it into an actual novel, worthy of submitting to publishers. So my plan is to take the ideas I’ve had for my children’s book, use NaNoWriMo to get most of the first draft written with the peer support and encouragement that comes with working to the same goal together, and see what I can do with it afterwards.

It is going to be hard work – after all, I have two small children at home and at the minute sleep deprivation is taking its toll too. It’s also coming up to Christmas so that will have to be factored in. BUT the good news is that Daniel goes to nursery from September, so I have 2 and a half hours every morning to use. I have some evening times. I’m not even going to try and get up early – I am the most un-morning person you can think of, so it would be a waste of time and set me up badly for the day.

And if I don’t achieve the 50000 words? I’ll have made a start on my second novel. I’ll have given it a go, and that’s an achievement in itself. Nothing to lose but my sanity (and let’s face it, that wouldn’t be much of a loss) and lots to gain.

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nanowrimo, national novel writing month, novel, Writing

So, yesterday you got your GCSE results – congratulations!

In all seriousness, whatever your results were, well done. There is a lot of hooha about exams getting easier, about grades getting higher, but there is no doubt this is one of the most stressful things you will have experienced up until now. Are students getting cleverer? Are teachers teaching better? Are exams, in actual fact, getting easier? I am in no position to comment, not being an expert in any of these areas. I would suspect, certainly a combination of all those factors. The only one I have a quibble with is the one about teachers – without the slightest disrespect to teachers who in general do an excellent job, and with my only reference the experience of my father who has recently retired from secondary school teaching but continues to be a Senior Marker for GCSE English, my personal view of the matter is that teaching now is geared to exams, exams, exams, results, results, results.

This means, if I’m right, that your education over the past 5 years (or even 11 years) has been focused on this moment. This is your reward for your compulsory education – the little piece of paper that right now has you either on Cloud Nine or down in the dumps. I remember getting my results – 13 years ago, oh my – and nothing else in the world seems as important. Now, I’m not going to lie to you – when you do your A-Levels or uni exams or vocational exams or driving test or whatever your path in life leads you to, GCSEs will not seem as vital as they do now. But they are important – they sum up your school career. They make you either rethink your career options or feel very smug that you are obviously fulfilling your destiny.

My advice? Treasure the moment. Hold on to that piece of paper. Let it inform your choices for a couple of years. Then let it go. In ten years, it is highly unlikely you will be on the same path you are on today. That does not, absolutely not, devalue anything you are doing now. Every exam result, piece of coursework, boring hour spent doing maths homework (apologies to maths buffs, but, you know…) is forming the person you will become in ten years. But it is not the be-all and end-all of the essential you. Your skills and talents may be highly academic – mine were – or just not being recognised right now. But you will, YOU WILL, get a chance to develop those skills and to shine in your true calling. The most important thing you can do now is celebrate your triumphs (and just getting through one of the most stressful experiences of your life so far is a triumph in itself), file your mistakes, and keep an eye out for your chances, without worrying how old or young you are when they come along. I have had about 3 careers since leaving school – 4, if you include my choice to stay at home and care for my family, and it’s taken me until now, nearly thirty years old, to discover and pursue my vocation. I may never have measured success, or it may come tomorrow. My husband is nearly 32, and he has only found his path over the past 18 months, with mistakes, mishaps and missed chances along the way. You can regret them, looking back, or looking forward. But if you keep looking back, you will continue to trip up.

And final tip? Take all advice on GCSEs, including mine, with a pinch of salt. Good luck!

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careers, education, exams, gcse

The phone rang for the hundredth time. I sighed, put down the iron, and answered the call.

“Good afternoon!” a false, cheerful voice rang out. “Could I speak to the homeowner please?”
“I’m a tenant,” I said dourly.
“Ah!” The Voice never faltered. “In that case, can I just ask if you have taken out life insurance lately?” I screamed silently.
“I’m not interested.”
“But if I could just take two minutes of your time to tell you about…”
“I’m really not interested. And I have to go and feed my baby.”
“A baby! How lovely, many congratulations. And have you considered how your premature death or illness could affect your children?”
“Sorry, got to go.”
“Well, thanks for your…”

I returned to the ironing, seething. Just once, just ONCE, I was going to tell The Voice to take a long walk off a short pier. These cold calls were among the many things that were really irritating me at the minute. The phone rang again.

“Good afternoon!” The Voice sang. “Could I speak to the person in charge of the bills please?” I grunted, then smiled.
“Mummy’th not in now.” I chirped.
“Oh…is your daddy there?”
“Daddy’th with my babythitter. They’re having a cuddle.”
“Um, ok. So when would be a good time to call back?”
“I don’t know, thorry. Mummy’th out till very, very late.”
“Riiight…”
“Bye bye.” And I put the phone down with a smug grin.

The next day the phone shrieked again, and The Voice rang out once more.
“Good morning! Are you the homeowner, may I ask?”
“You may.”
“Ah, ok. Um…”
“Ask then.”
“Er, are you the homeowner?”
“No. Anything else?”
“I believe your contents insurance is currently due for renewal, is that right?”
“You seem to know more than me. Are you going to pay it for me?”
“Er, no, madam.” The Voice seemed to rally. “This is just a courtesy call, madam, to let you know that you could save over £100 a year with our contents insurance.”
“That’s fine thanks. I don’t want to.”
“You don’t want to save over £100 per year?”
“Nope. My husband is paying the bill, and as he’s currently sleeping with my neighbour and I’m about to leave him for my dance teacher, I’d rather he was left with as big a bill as possible.”
“Um…”
“Is there anything else? My taxi’s waiting.”
“Well, I could…”

I was starting to enjoy the cold calling now. It certainly livened up the ironing, which seemed to go on and on and on and…anyway. Later there was another call.

“Good afternoon!”
“It’s not twelve o clock yet.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You said good afternoon. It’s not afternoon yet. Not by my watch.” There was silence for a moment, and I pictured the caller checking the time. Which was about half two.
“Right, well my mistake, madam,” The Voice apologised in a not-very-sincere tone, clearly thinking I was a complete idiot. I was going to enjoy this one.
“Can I help you?” I said politely.
“As a matter of fact, I think I can help you. Have you renewed your car insurance yet?”
“I was just about to. You stopped me with my hand on the mouse.”
“Excellent Mrs Brown! I think I can save you hundreds on your premium, have you got a minute to hear how?”
“Not really.”
“Well, it will just take a moment. Or is your husband in? Perhaps he is the one to talk to.” This got my attention. Ignorant, misogynistic little…I seethed silently.
“Nope. I just put him under the patio.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I just buried him. Under the patio, so the smell doesn’t attract vermin. Except then I got a call from an insurance company, so it mustn’t work.”
“I, er, one moment please?” There was silence and I was confused. Surely at this point he hangs up and apologises for wasting my time? Or says he will phone back later? Surely, SURELY, he hasn’t been dim enough to believe that I just confessed to murdering my husband to a total stranger?
“Mrs Brown?”
“Yes?”
“Could you, er, could you just go through your current quote for me?” What?
“That could take a while?”
“Great…I mean, that’s fine Mrs Brown.” Oh, now I got it. He was keeping me on the line. What, were the police going to turn up? I laughed.
“Right, ok, let’s just wind this up. I’m not interested, I just made that up to get rid of you. Ok?”
“Ah, of course Mrs Brown! Ha ha, excellent joke. Sorry for wasting your time.” And I don’t think I’ve ever heard a cold caller hang up as fast.

I smiled and took my drink out onto the patio. Hopefully that prank would spread and I might get less sales calls. Presumably cold callers had some little society or something where they shared tips. I was feeling much less irritated now anyway.

“I can’t believe I was married to one of you people for so long,” I remarked to my sort-of absent husband, and shuddered.

I took another sip of my wine, and smiled again.

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cold calling, flash fiction, friday flash, sales, short story

Well, I found out today (through reading this excellent post at Austenprose) that yesterday was Georgette Heyer’s birthday.

Georgette Heyer is probably my all-time favourite author, all things considered. She is the person whose books I can pick up at any time and enjoy, no matter how many times I’ve read them, the person whose books I would take to a desert island (probably Devil’s Cub, Venetia and Frederica, in case you’re interested), and the author I read most during my adolescence, and therefore had the greatest influence on me as both a reader and a writer. She is also the writer I would most like to emulate. Yes, even more than, say, Jane Austen. I can’t emulate her, any more than I can cook like Jamie Oliver, but boy would I love to.

Wouldn’t it be great if they adapted her books for tv? Not film, they’d have to cut out too much. But a nice, juicy adaptation of about four one hour episodes, with a lovely cast of BBC costume drama regulars (I’m thinking Richard Armitage as Sylvester or Lord Damerel for example) would see me in heaven, metaphorically speaking.

Why do I love her so much? Her language is spot on – witty (in fact downright laugh-out-loud at times), resonant, true to character. Her descriptions sing of the time and place without her ramming her research down your throat. Her plots are many and varied whilst retaining a common theme of love and marriage. Her characters spring to life on the page.

Anyway, that was my brief tribute to an inspiring author. Hopefully it will have whetted your appetite a little to try one of her books – although if you haven’t up until now, WHY ON EARTH NOT?

In other news, if you missed my little poem for Emily yesterday, here’s the link, and here’s one I tweeted for Daniel today. Again, based on life events…

Daniel Brown was feeling arty

So he thought he’d be a smarty

He took his crayons and with great flair

Drew rainbow castles everywhere…

Then proud as punch he shouted “Mummy!

Mummy, quick, come and see!”

Mum nearly fainted when she saw

He’d drawn his rainbows on the floor!

He didn’t know why mummy frowned

At the creative talent of Daniel Brown.

And a couple of questions to finish: What do you think of Heyer? And how, HOW is it possible to love a little boy so much yet spend an afternoon not-so-silently seething at him? Would love some opinions!

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children, georgette heyer, heyer, parenting, poem, reading, regency

Tweeted earlier today, and based on real life events…

Emily Grace

Had a twisty face

‘Cause something was bugging her tum

She started to cry

Then let out a sigh

As it exploded out of her bum.

Next came a belch

A big sticky squelch

And for the first time in a while

Emily Grace

Had a happy face

And a great big beaming smile!

I also did a new six minute story, which you can read here.

http://sixminutestory.com/read/running-behind

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In honour of my grandma-in-law, who turned 80 yesterday.

“Champagne and fireworks,” said Dot, not looking away from Deal or No Deal. “It’s not everyday you turn 80. I want champagne and fireworks.” Her son rolled his eyes and made a note on his phone.
“Mam,” he said, “You know champagne costs a load, don’t you? And fireworks will too, this time of year. And I don’t know how we’ll get them sorted for tomorrow night.”
“Don’t worry about that, Paul,” said Dot. “Got a bit saved up. Bingo. No deal! No deal!”

Her daughter looked up in surprise, then realised she was talking to Noel Edmonds. ”She gets battier every year,” muttered Carole, ironing a lace tablecloth.
“So the club’s ours from lunchtime, to sort out the food and that,” Paul said, ignoring his sister. “And I’ll get some champagne from Asda.”
“Susan at work knows someone who does fireworks and stuff,” said Carole in a resigned tone. “Or Bill from the estate, he might know where we could get some.”
“Off the back of a lorry, likely,” said Paul.
“Eh?” said Dot, as the adverts came on, a smooth velvet voice extolling the virtues of a Caribbean cruise.
“Nothing, Mam,” said Paul, getting up and giving her a kiss on the cheek before pulling his coat on.
“Get them fireworks sorted,” she told him. “The bairns’ll like them. I want them at my party, even if I’m not there to see it.”
“What’re you talking like that for?” scolded Carole. “Course you’ll be here, Mam. Strong as an ox, you are.”
“She been like this much?” whispered Paul as the adverts finished and their mother’s attention was diverted.
“Yeah,” said Carole. “She keeps getting these morbid turns. Says she won’t be here for her party.”
“Think there’s something she’s not telling us?”
“Nah. She’s just getting old. Old people get thoughts like that in their heads, don’t they?” Then, speaking up, “We’re off now Mam. I’ll let you know about the fireworks.”

“Ok, pet,” said Dot, giving kisses to each of them without taking her eyes off the screen. When she heard the click of the front door she sat back in her chair with a sigh. She got up and went around the living room, running her fingers over the photos arranged on various surfaces, each one sat proudly on a lace mat. Faces stared back at her, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. Norman. She missed him so much still; even after all this time, it would still feel strange having a birthday without him. Her eye fell on a pile of envelopes, her name scrawled twenty times, waiting to be opened. She was supposed to be saving them for her party, but since her birthday had actually been yesterday she decided to open them all now. She read each one out loud, squinting at the handwriting, putting each one aside reverently then standing them up in the spaces between her pictures. She would have to chase up her grandson, she still didn’t have one of him and his wife together. She smiled at the ones from the great-grandchildren, her bairns. A couple of them were starting to write their own names, a couple were doing bold crayon scribbles in blue and pink and lime green. One card had a wrinkled patch from a damp kiss and a note ‘Emily kissed this card for her great-grandma’. She picked up the discarded envelopes and put them tidily to one side, ready for the recycling bin.

The following evening, she was all ready. Glammed up, full make-up, the works. The lights were on a timer, the blinds were tilted, everything ready for her to leave for the party. Carole had called earlier to make sure she was ready. “Taxi’ll be there at seven, Mam,” she’d said. “Make sure you’re ready.” Dot looked at the clock, and as seven o clock struck a horn blared outside. She picked up her bag, gave one last look around and carefully locked the door behind her. The taxi driver gave the suitcase a curious glance, but obviously just thought her age was getting the better of her.

“All set then, love?” he said cheerfully, heaving the case into the boot. “Bit much for a party, isn’t it? Planning a good night?”

“Change of plan,” Dot said. “Just call at the club with this,” she handed him an envelope, “then Newcastle Airport, please.” He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. Dot could almost see him mentally rubbing his hands together at the unexpectedly large fare. She opened her handbag, and checked. Tickets, passport, cruise itinerary,  and around £10000 in various currencies. Well, it was pointless letting all the bingo winnings sit there doing nothing. In a few hours she would be enjoying champagne and fireworks just like she wanted, from the lounge on the Freedom of the Seas.

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Emily began solids this week. Actually, her first taste of solids was nearly 2 weeks ago, but we put it on hold because there was a load of upheaval at home. Yes, she is young – she only turned 4 months old on Monday. And as the health visitor pointed out, “We do prefer them to wait until 6 months to start solids”. Oh, really? Not sure Emmy would agree with you. Without going into long and boring details, she is letting me know in no uncertain terms that her current level of intake is not quite doing it for her. I think if I suggested to Emily that she wait another 2 months before moving her on, she might take my arm off at the elbow. Daniel was the same.

In fact, pretty much every time we moved Daniel on, from weaning to sleeping in his own room to giving up a dummy to toilet training, he let us know that he was ready for it. When he was ready to move out of our room, his sleep worsened, improving once he was in his own space. Same again when it came to changing from a cot to a bed.

Take toilet training – I’m more than half convinced that it’s actually the child training us. We just established that Daniel was very good at using the potty and asking for it and fetching it. We were in a nice little comfort zone, and I thought I would introduce the concept of the toilet in a couple of weeks, no hurry. Daniel decided differently, and completely off his own back he started using the toilet instead of the potty.

Emily is so far following firmly in her brother’s footsteps, letting me know when it’s time to move on. I suspect most babies are the same. This is a pretty handy thing when you think about it. Most parents are completely clueless (including us by the way!), hence the market for parenting help books, the sheer abundance of forums on the net, the helpful blogs. We joke about needing an instruction manual when we bring our newborn home but inside we’re shouting “Please give us an instruction manual!” Sweating madly, convinced we’re going to end up causing untold damage to this tiny little being because WE DON’T KNOW WHAT WE’RE DOING. And we cling onto the moment that we were in 5 minutes ago because the thought of the future, of them growing up and not needing us any more, is too scary. But luckily, for them anyway, babies are smarter than us. They know what they need, and when, and they find ways of telling us. I’m not ready for Emmy to start weaning. I felt like telling the health visitor that. “Do you think I WANT to start solids? Do I want to spend hours cooking and pureeing veg and freezing it in little blocks and persuading her that peas are actually delicious? Do I want to start the process of moving my daughter away from the intense closeness that breastfeeding brings, knowing that I won’t get that again?”

But Emily, my four month old baby girl, is smarter than me, and smarter than the expert. She knows she is big and strong, and needing more. So I’ll listen to her, and not the experts, thank you so much for the advice.

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baby, parenting, toddler, toilet training, weaning