Down Under

Hallo, and oh dear,

So much for New Year resolutions; mine was to write my blog regularly once a month without fail. Date today 16th February. Hmmm. Happy Belated Valentine's Day everyone.

Anyway, this being the first day of the rest of my life, better late than never, and all that, here it is, and as always I do have a bit of an excuse, as I've been in Australia for a month. Mostly staying with Daughter no 1 and her family, celebrating her birthday with a very cool ladies- only party, and having a glorious holiday, but doing a bit of work as well. And how clever of me was that! with the UK swathed in icy fog, I was to be found picnicking on a host of lovely beaches, body surfing rather gingerly, swimming in rock pools --the pools carved out of the rocks on almost all the beaches, filled every day with fresh water swirling in from the ocean--eating endless yummy barbecues, and lolling beside the family pool and perfecting a water ballet with my 15 year old granddaughter. We found this hilarious; the rest of the family got rather tired of it. ...Oh and we had a wonderful lunch at the Boathouse restaurant, on Palm Beach, made famous in Home and Away, (although it isn't called Palm Beach of course, but Summer Bay last time I looked) where the food is totally yummy--thick tuna steaks, we had, washed down with very good white wine, and the best frites I think I've ever eaten. The most fabulous kite surfing goes on there, the surfers lifted ten, sometimes fifteen feet out of the water, and pelicans march up and down the beach looking distinctly disapproving.

For me the One Word Association with Australia is not "sun" or "beach" or even "barbecue: it's light. The light there is simply beautiful, very brilliant and extraordinarily clear. I suppose it's all the water everywhere, reflecting it and throwing it back. And it is without doubt a happy place; people smile a lot and are incredibly friendly.

The working part of the trip consisted mostly of promoting The Decision; and it was the happiest few days. I always find it rather hard to believe that these stories of mine, written in the seclusion of my study in London, then go out and travel all over the world; and especially as far as the absolute furthest side of it. But they do and it's a huge bonus, meeting readers there; and I always enjoy talking to them so much. .

I stayed in the heart of Sydney in the extremely spoiling Four Seasons hotel, my room overlooking the harbour and of course the iconic Opera House; it truly is the most ravishing sight, and even more marvellous in real life than all the photographs, its lovely arched winged shape carved out of the (mostly) blue sky . (It is incidentally a bit of a myth that it never rains in Australia, Sydney does rain like you wouldn't believe, sending down stair rods of the stuff that go on for days at a time.) But it does rather redeem itself when it stops; one day I was sitting on the deck the house and the most incredible double rainbow presented itself to me and lasted for a very long time, far longer than its English counterparts. But I digress: as usual.

I had lots of fun inSydney, did several interviews, mostly on the radio; perhaps the most fun was on the ABC Radio National book show, with Michael Cathcart, definitely a legend in his own airtime. We chatted away about all manner of things as well as the book and I completely forgot, as with all the best interviews, I was on the radio at all and had to be practically hauled out of the studio. There was a marvellous lunch, hosted jointly by the Sydney Morning Herald and Dymocks, a book chain very like Waterstones, that same day; 25o people (mostly female, but certainly not entirely) came and were one of the best audiences for a talk ever; and I got a huge round of applause when I said, entirely truthfully, that I thought Sydney was one of the most beautiful cities in the world, up there with Venice and Paris. One of the most endearing things about Australians is how proud they are of their country, fiercely and gloriously patriotic.

And as if to prove to me yet again how small the world is, even if I was 23,000 miles away from home, a gentleman came up to my table at the lunch, and announced he had been at medical school with my late husband however many decades ago it was, let's not count... and as if that wasn't coincidence enough, he knew another English family who live--wait for it--almost next door to another daughter in London, and whose son is extremely good friends with with my grandson last summer and came to Wales to stay with us in our Gower cottage.

Another treat was meeting Brooke Simmons who runs the Sassie Sam website, hugely popular over there; she interviewed me , if you could call it that, it was more like the funniest, most interesting conversation ever. Brooke is seriously stylish in a wonderfully ditzy way; and looks quite amazing. Definitely the star of the foyer, she was.

We had dinner that night, some publishing and book seller folk and me, in a stunning restaurant called Otto, situated like all the best Sydney eateries on a wharf and sat in the warmth as the sun went down, drinking rich golden Australian chardy, eating barramundi, and chatting the night away. It's a tough job but someone has to do it...

On then to Melbourne, very different from Sydney, more formal, with tall gracious buildings a greater sense of history and a strong cultural reputation. The rivalry between the two, or rather the inhabitants of the two is intense, witness a fierce argument at dinner in Sydney; personally I think it's like comparing steak and strawberries -- and can't be done.

Anyway, my hotel (another humdinger, the Westin) was set in the heart of Serious Shopping country; I was within a wallet's throw of Chanel, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Ralph Lauren and Armani.... . Fortunately my schedule didn't allow me to do any more than glance rather desperately through their windows as I was whisked past en route yet another interview.

Ironically it was hotter in Melbourne than in Sydney; an alfresco lunch at an Italian restaurant (the best risotto ever, this is a city for serious foodies) was as much Outdoors as I could cope with. Temperatures in the mid thirties come as a shock to the Anglo Saxon constitution. .

The trip ended with a dinner in Camberwell, an outpost of the city, again sponsored by Dymocks; more chat, more exchanging of ideas and a distinctly informal atmosphere. I have to tell you that the conversation over the book signings is not always confined to literary matters, but other weighty subjects like clothes, food, children and what sort of dogs we've all got. (this last because I'd revealed on the radio that morning that my early-morning dog walks was when I do my plotting.) Incidentally, for those who care, the dog population of Australia is extraordinarily similar to that of England: lots and lots of labradors, spaniels, poodles, labradoodles, (very popular indeed now) and German shepherds. ...just thought you might like to know. And although dogs are not allowed on most of the beaches, (which I have to say is probably a good idea) they have specially designated Dog Beaches, where they all gather in huge numbers, steal each other's toys and sticks, swim very competitively, and make a lot of noise.

Coming home was something of a shock, as it was right in the middle of the coldest spell in the winter, but just as well, as I didn't manage to do QUITE as much work out there as I planned--well would you?--and it suddenly seems quite easy to sit indoors all day,with the central heating turned up, slaving over a hot laptop and getting on with the next book. Which I just suspect might have some Australian sections...

And I promise the next blog will be much much sooner.

Penny V

Countdown.....

Hallo!

I'm actually writing this from our cottage in the Gower Peninsula in Wales where it is still summer: it's been very busy here, loads of visitors, including the two new additions to the family, Niamh, aged two months and Grace, aged nine months, both of whom seemed to like it a lot. Oh, and a large number of four legged family visitors too, most notably Merlin the whippet and Floyd and Monty, the labradors.Not forgetting Clemmie, my own rather elderly but sea-loving King Charles

spaniel.

Everyone has had a lovely time, walking on the cliffs and moors and playing in the sea; this is such a very special place, quite unique, and I actually used it as one of the settings in "An Absolute Scandal" the book before last.

It is gloriously sunny and warm and the sea (which I can see from my study window, how lucky is that!) is blue and hugely enticing-looking. I was in it yesterday...but I'm resisting it today--so far. The blog beckons.
Anyway, it all seems a long long way away from London and the publication of The Decision which is excitingly--and terrifyingly! -- close.
Just a few weeks ago, we made the short film about it which you can view on the website right now. It was a pretty scary experience, I have to say, although huge fun as well; it's all very nice at first, being fussed over by make up artists and hairdressers and choosing your most flattering outfit to wear, but then you have to face the camera and it all gets rather different. Like most of you, I daresay, I've always thought reading the news would be a perfectly straightforward procedure, so long as you could actually read out loud: not so. The person you thought you were-- able to smile at the same time as talk, not deliver everything in a complete monotone, not gallop through the words in a desperate attempt to get to the end--walks out of the door and leaves a different you behind, ridiculously nervous, with a wobbly voice and a tendency to gulp audibly. However, I settled down after a bit and really began to enjoy it; reading from the book--and I had the very first printed copy in my hands that day--brought it to life and made me realise that here was another one finished, the real thing, not just a manuscript, or a document on the laptop, but an actual book, signed, sealed and delivered, with characters just waiting to get out there and tell their story.
It's on my book shelf now; it'll be in the shops in just three weeks' time. As I keep saying, I do hope you like it...
September is going to be a whirlwind of The Decision-based activity, taking in a trip to Ireland, the Appledore book festival in Devon, another at Henley--followed by Cheltenham and Guildford in October-- all of which I'm very excited about, and then of course the fast-becoming-famous Bookfest in Wimbledon, of which I'm a patron. I'll hope very much to meet some of you at some of them, if you follow me.

Penny

Back to work!

Hallo!

It's a very long time since I wrote this blog and I'm very aware of it; but I do have an awfully good excuse which is that I've been writing my next book. It has been a long long task, given the length of my books (and this one is longer than ever, despite my best efforts to make it shorter). A lot of research, a bit of rewriting, (two of the major characters wouldn't do what I expected--this always happens, but it was worse than usual this time) and then a fair bit of editing. But it's done now, it's called The Decision and it's being published in September and I've put a photograph of its cover on this blog for you to see.

Covers are so important--not just to look good and stand out on the book shelves and all that sort of thing, but also to suit the story and please the author. It is after all a bit like dressing your child; it's not just that you want him or her to have lovely clothes, they need to be right. I mean, a frilly dress, however delightful and sassy, won't suit a tomboy; and a smart shirt and trousers, however stylish, won't do for a little chap who should clearly be knocking around in board shorts and t-shirt. So with book jackets: they need to look romantic, or intriguing, or exciting in every way, they need to catch the personality of the book, and that includes the photograph (if there is one), the type face and even the colour of the title. The Decision has a lot of glossy white and red; I will leave you to guess at its mood from that.

I'm not going to tell you what it's about just yet, but what I will tell you is that it's set in the sixties, and much of it in the world of fashion, which I was very involved in myself at that time--I was actually the first fashion editor of an iconic magazine called Nova--and writing about my heroine's life on a rather similar magazine was incredibly exciting and brought it all very vividly back. I still possess a few things with the Biba label and can remember trying things on behind a screen on the pavement outside the first shop, because it became so impossibly full inside.

Oh and I will tell you the heroine's name: it's Eliza. And that she is, at the start of the book that extremely old-fashioned creature a deb, but becomes very thoroughly modernised very quickly both by her career and the man she falls in love with. And that really is all for now.

Lots more to come though.....

Penny

November P.S and sorry

P.S.

This is a big apology to Harrie Evans' sister who I met at the wonderful party and who of course  is called Caroline and not Clare. I am so sorry, Caroline, I really can't think how it happened, I knewk perfectly well. . My brain is turning to mush, from too much writing, that's the only excuse I can find. Not very impressive.  Blog followers, please look out for other non-deliberate mistakes in future and let me know. .  And Caroline, I'm very sorry again. 

Penny V

November November...

How I hate November. I know I'm not the only one (any November lovers out there please write in and identify yourselves, I'd really like to congratulate you on having some of sunniest natures in the universe) But I think it's horrible. Shorter days (getting shorter all the time too, so that unless  you have lunch at one on the dot it could be suppertime, it's so dark) and murky mornings that hardly deserve the name. Plus an increasing panic about Christmas with none of the excitement that December brings. There's actually a poem about it, the last lines of which are 

"No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees.

No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds

November!"

If anyone knows the rest of the poem, then again could please let me know. It just about sums the whole horrid time up.

It's particularly horrid for people like me who are early risers. I get up at six every day and go for an hour's walk on the Common with my dogs Or rather, my dog, we only have one at the moment, but there is one in the wings, so to speak. I think. We do like to have two, they keep each other company) That's actually when I start work, I stomp round plotting, thinking about my characters and what  might be happening to them that day. I know everybody I meet (although often only by their dogs' names, those of you who have dogs will understand this) and we have very brief conversation. This is not because I, and certainly not they, are unfriendly, just that everybody knows that I'm working. People actually say to me "I won't keep you because I know you're working" Which is very kind and must seem quite funny to anyone who doesn't know the form the work takes.

Anyway, I can tell you that walking across a completely black common is not a lot of fun; although I do kind of walk into the light, (which sounds slightly biblical, seeing it written) But I still do it, because sitting in a nice warm study staring at the screen just doesn't work in the least. And anyway, that's it for the day, exercise done; and I get back to really excitingly literary things like putting on the washing machine, but---my head  full of ideas. 

However, we did escape to the warmth and light of Barcelona and Madrid for a few days (which made November here seem even worse) We were very cultured and did all --well most of-- the museums, but also sat in the sunshine quite a lot, and ate some lovely food, including lunch at what is the oldest restaurant in the world, Botin it's called, in Madrid, and if you go to Madrid do please have a meal there. It is incredible, been open 300 years, so they obviously know a thing or two--including that their original stove does better than any modern nonsense, and there it is, an amazing cast iron range-y thing, which I actually saw. I fear Health and Safety would have it whipped out in minutes if they were there; thankfully they're not. It's a literary place too, is Botin,in a way, actually mentioned by Hemingway in Fiesta; we didn't quite match his lunch, which was suckling pig, their speciality and a bottle of Rioja--well we managed the Rioja-- but I felt pretty excited to be there at all.

I also had a lovely escape the other night to a most wonderful literary party--my ex-editor, Harriet Evans, known to all as Harrie, has decided she'd rather write her own books than edit mine, can't imagine why--and her latest was launched last week. It's called I Remember You and it's wonderful. Harrie manages to be funny and moving and page-turning all at the same time; no easy feat. Anyway, it was a very smart affair at a very smart London club called One Alfred Place; although Harrie and her editor, Lynne Drew, kicked off their killer heels and stood on the sofa to make the obligatory speeches, (rather than mounting a podium) which was rather heart-warming.  Harrie was presented with a cake-stand  (again apparently rather non-literary, but turns out  the heroine of I Remember You,  Tess, has a thing about cake stands) As well as being rather a grand party--Harrie's agent, the eternally youthful, eternally handsome Jonathan Lloyd  was there, and so were a lot of her friends and ex-colleagues from my publishers, including Martin Neild, the ultra-charming MD, and we all got very misty eyed and said how proud of her we were and how much we missed her. And also there were her parents, (her mum, Linda Evans, is an incredibly important editor, and one of the nicest people on the planet) and so was her sister, Clare, (who I discovered is a good friend of a good friend of my Number Four daughter, small world) so there was a great family feel about it all as well. Which is just as it should be. Go buy the book! 

And here's to the end of November. 

Penny

Book-ish news

Hallo.

Well, I never thought I'd enjoy writing this so much. Or that anybody would (apparently) read it. But I do keep being told by people that they "love" my blog; and having promised myself and my publishers and my lovely publicity person, Georgina Moore, that I'd do it once a month, then I guess it's time to hit the keyboard again. In fact I'm hitting it a bit late. I'd specially like to thank all the lovely people who wrote on my Facebook page to say they enjoyed it. 

And of course, who write to say how much they like my books. This is always such good news; as I'm always saying, writing is pretty solitary and on a bad day (plenty of them) I do feel I'm only writing for me and the dog. So--please--keep on reassuring me! We writers are very insecure. 

I haven't actually written much of the new book this week, as I was asked to write an article for the Daily Telegraph about Mr. Rochester (of Jane Eyre) who came top in a poll of fictional heroes . As I fell in love with Mr. Rochester aged 13 or thereabouts, and have loved him ever since (along with Rhett Butler and Max de Winter of Rebecca) I couldn't resist. It was altogether a very interesting list, with the classics featured heavily (Mr.Darcy and Heathcliff) but Rupert Campbell Black, Jilly Cooper's wonderful hero, was there too. I now have a new ambition: to have one of MY heroes featured in a poll.  My special favourites  are Miles in Old Sins and Sebastian in the Lytton trilogy; not sure if they can compete with Mr. Rochester though!

The Wimbledon Bookfest came and went; very succesfully and  thank you to everyone who came along to it. I was completely thrilled to meet June Whitfield again; we were together many years ago on a radio programme called "Quote Unquote" and I can tell you, she is a total star, witty and fascinating as well as terribly nice.   

My Girls Night Out culminated in a very drunken dinner party at my house, attended by my wonderfully  funny and glamourous fellow Girls Night Out-ers, JoJo Moyes and Jessica Ruston and a few other people in the business, including the aforementioned Georgina Moore, who makes me laugh almost more than anyone I know and who can make the most exhausting publicity tour fun. 

I did feel extremely ill the next day; but recovered enough to interview Sadie Jones, the  author of  The Outcast and Small Wars. She's an incredible new talent on the literary scene; I can't recommend her books highly enough. Incredibly moving and very very atmospheric. 

I'm now off for eight days' holiday in Spain with the Dear One; it's part research, as Barcelona is figuring in the new book. It's such a boost for a plot when it moves around the globe: and for me following it! |But seriously, whole new storylines seem to happen, just because I'm in a different place; it's all part of the odd thing of plots taking me by surprise, and being shaped by the characters, where they are and what they're doing.  In due course you, as well as I, will find out what takes place in Barcelona! I hope!

Penny V

Interim news

Hi

This is not the main point of this particular blog, but I thought (maybe self-centredly) that it would be an idea to include a picture on it. It certainly looks more interesting. 

This is me (furthest left) with most of my family taken last Spring  in Wales. Next to me is my husband, and then sundry daughters, husbands, partners and grandchildren.  It was a particularly happy day,  with the sun rather unusually shining. Oh, and it was my birthday. Missing are Daughter Number One and her husband and children, (all resident in Sydney)and Daughter Number Three's fiance, who was taking the photograph. He is now her husband; they were married later in the year ( already covered in Another Blog)

It may be the last picture you'll see here for some time, as I don't quite know how I managed to get it onto the page in the first place (see first blog re my complete lack of technical expertise. I went to the Apple Store in Regent Street the other day and it was like landing on the Moon; very beautiful and futuristic, and full of wonderful, magical things, but they speak a different language from me there.  Not only did I not understand their answers, they didn't understand my questions. They were charming and helpful, though and we managed in the end.)

Anyway, what this blog is really all about is something that occupies both my time and attention a great deal at this time of year and that is the Wimbledon Book Festival, known as the Bookfest. I am one of the  patrons, and in three years it has grown into something truly impressive. None of the credit to me, but to the proper organisers, who do all the work. It was the brainchild of an absolute whirlwind of a person called Fiona Razvi, who decided one day that what Wimbledon needed was a literary festival,  and set about bringing it to life in rather less than six months (she's that sort of lady) together with the  Chairman of the Festival, Tony Kane and other equally gifted and determined people. It runs for ten days or so, and is launched by the Mayor of Wimbledon on the morning of Saturday October 3rd,  at St.Mark's Place, next to Wimbledon Library, Wimbledon Hill Road. There   will be  storytelling in the actual library, and several authors will be signing their books,  including Michelle Paver from 10 to 11, June Whitfield from 10.45 to ll.15 and me from  10.30 to 11.30. The other events I'm personally involved in are my "regular" event, Girls Night Out, on Monday October 5th when two other authors and I basically just sit and chat about our work and take questions from the audience over a glass of wine or  two. That is to say the audience gets some wine too. It really is great fun; joining me this year  are JoJo Moyes, whose new book The Horse Dancer is the most brilliant and intriguing tale, and Jessica Ruston, who's just published her first blockbuster,  Luxury, and very good it is too. That's at Wimbledon's rather posh hotel, Cannizaro House at 8 pm (doors open at 7.30) I'm also interviewing  Sadie Jones, whose first book, The Outcast won endless acclaim and awards and whose second, Small Wars is so totally gripping I couldn't  put it down. That's at Waterstone's on Wimbledon Bridge, at 7.30 (doors open at 7) and you also get a glass of wine, or a soft drink if you're that way inclined. (I'll be the one with the wine. )

I can't list all the other events, but they are many and wonderful, ranging from an evening at the Polka (the famous children's theatre in Wimbledon and another passion of mine) with Gyles Brandreth, Julian Fellowes, script writer extraordinaire,  talking about his latest novel, Deborah Moggach discussing her work, Max Hastings on Churchill,  and a Literary Lunch with June Whitfield.  There's also a children's Literature Festival at the Polka on Saturday October 10th . 

It'd be lovely to see you there. I'm so proud of being part of it. 

Full details on the Bookfest website, www.wimbledonbookfest.org

Penny