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Archive for July, 2010

given my blog is generally rooted in the domestic sphere, but if you haven’t seen the excellent new blog, ‘My fault, I’m female’, I’d encourage you to take a look.

The tales of everyday, unthinking sexism and misogyny are pretty breathtaking. If anyone thinks that feminism is irrelevant and that the battle is won, I think some of the stories on MFIF would challenge them to think again.

http://myfaultimfemale.wordpress.com/

I knit, sew, garden and bake because I want to, and because I enjoy it. I would be very snitty with anyone who told me it was my ‘job’ because I’m a woman. I can also wire a plug and put a bookcase together, but I don’t blog about that because I think it’s a bit dull. Mr SowandSew, by the way, as well as being electrical whizz and henhouse builder extraordinaire, can sew better than I can, and has recently developed a mean flapjack recipe. I like it that we can both do what we enjoy. He’s a man, I’m a woman, but we’re both more than that. I can’t really understand why this is so hard for some people to grasp.

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As it happens, those probably are two of my favourite things.

I’ve been flat out recently, not just with editing work, although there’s been a fair bit of that. I have also been writing. I may have been rather critical, in conversation with one of my editors, of the quality of the writing in some of the books I’ve been editing. And so the editor in question may have challenged me to put my money where my mouth is. Which is how, gentle reader, I come to be writing a teenybopper book about a young actor-fellow of whom I had never heard before a fortnight ago. Sadly, he is not a particularly interesting young man, but this cannot come across in the book. I am not given to exclamation marks and breathless fangirling, so I have demanded a pseudonym for this particular ‘literary’ endeavour. No, I’m not telling you the name of the subject. Nor my pen-name.

But my subconscious is clearly determined that should I be extinguished in a freak tractor incident, this dubious prose is not to be the only writing I’ve ever done. So for the first time in more than fifteen years, I am writing fiction. To be precise, a novel. I have done more than 8,000 words and they are still flooding out. Most peculiar – I never saw this one coming. So, with one thing and another I have been tied to my desk all day, and then into the night. I haven’t had much time for fun and games and have been feeling quite growly. So as an exercise, I wrote a list of my favourite things. Julie Andrews eat your heart out.

Stretching out in bed after a long day (clean sheets a bonus).
Home made cake.
The view down our valley from our kitchen door.
My little girl’s giggle.
My little boy’s chuckle.
Big squeezy hugs from someone who loves me.
A good cup of tea just when a cup of tea is needed.
Walking over crisp autumn leaves.
Kissing.
The smell of tomato plants.
Elegant use of the semi-colon.
Laundry that’s been dried on the line.
Fireworks.
Proper, old fashioned, scented roses.
Curling up by the fire on a cold evening, with something nice to drink, a purring cat and a snoring dog.
Really good ice cream.
The first time I untwirl a new lipstick.
A long chat on the phone with a friend I haven’t seen for ages.
Eating food I’ve grown myself.
A good book.
Really, really fabulous shoes.
Champagne in bed.
Singing along to the radio.
Wrapping presents on Christmas Eve while listening to Carols from Kings on Radio 4.
Actually, Radio 4.
Being out on a clear night and looking at the stars.
Wearing pretty knickers.
Having a ridiculous and impractical crush, even if you’re a grown up, married mother of two.
Eating a curry so hot it makes my nose run.
Smelling a perfume that reminds me of someone, something, somewhere or some time.
Dancing. Especially on my own in the kitchen.

What are yours?

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