It's a funny thing blogging. I do it so infrequently - I mean to do it more - that I feel like I should have something monumental to say. Well... I don't... I'm still in the final stages of the second novel - Where The Truth Lies - and am going to live in Brighton for a week to try and 'up' the sense of place and also to get some peace and quiet to really ponder on the story. Because working from home is beset with interruptions, and nice as my family are, I could do without them at the moment. Some enforced solitude can only do the novel good. I do plan to frequent coffee shops and walk the prom but otherwise will be standing with my chapters printed out around me, reminding myself why each scene is there - Does it show character? Does it move the plot on? Is it fulfilling its dramatic potential? Does it need to be cut??

The other thing I'm doing is taking part in NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month. During the month of November, people all over the world devote time and energy to the first draft of their novel. So I'm trying to do that with my third and am making my daily word count but don't have much of a plot going yet. I'm still too much into the second novel and it's probably too soon to take my foot out of that camp. I admire writers who can write several novels/short stories at once. If I do that, my characters become a composite of each other and then I lose track of who's who and what sets them and their story apart.

And now I'm remembering. I signed up for a google blog because they're a bit 'friendlier' and I can upload photos and other bits and bobs of info more easily. I will organise that soon and have a link from the website.

Thank you to all of you who've written this last month. It's a real boost to get feedback on Tell Me No Secrets. As an avid reader myself, it's great to know I'm giving readers' some small measure of the enjoyment I've been given over the years.

I write this full of cake - a lovely birthday celebration for my once writing teacher and now friend - not that friends can't teach us anything - but we were once formally teacher and pupil and a great teacher she was. As we sat in her garden, a few of us decided to commit to the National Novel Writing Month which begins in November. I have to start the third novel anyway, so perfect to have some company, albeit in other parts of the village... England... the world. 

Writing is a solitary experience but writing friends are invaluable and so too are readers, some of whom I met yesterday when I was doing a book signing in Waterstones, East Grinstead. It was surprisingly good fun. I'd only put myself down for an hour but I could have stayed longer. People who read books are nice! I was joined by some old friends and made some new ones. Thank you to Steve, Susanne, Sue and many others who took time to chat to me. This coming Saturday, I am talking about the writing process at 2pm in Forest Row. For more details, please go to the 'News' page.

I'm on the home straight now with the second novel. After detailed, like-gold-dust feedback from my agent and my editor, I can see what's working and what isn't. Another couple of weeks and I'll be there - bar the copyeditor and proof reader's notes - but by then my job is all but done. 

We dropped off our youngest son at university yesterday - Portsmouth. It was the most incredible day - blue skies and hot sunshine. His room was like an oven but with great views down to the Spinnaker Tower. With the wonders of Facebook, he already 'knew' the people he was sharing the living space with. We left him with a glass of beer in one hand, some pizza in the other and a big smile on his face. (Remember to eat fruit, drink water and get enough sleep. And lectures - try to go to most of them!)

Jenni - thanks for the card! It was great to hear from you. I will write back. x (If you're on Facebook, please look me up.)

I sent the second draft of the second novel off last Friday and now there's the wait until I hear back from my editor at Hodder. Hopefully, most of it's working but I find it very hard to tell as I know so much more about the characters and their motivations than I can put across in 100,000 words. Have I given enough of the right information at the right times? ... I don't know. Is the plot engaging enough? ... I hope so. Am I prepared to work harder on it? ... Definitely! I don't want to send the second book 'out there' unless I'm completely happy with it. I can honestly say that, on the odd occasion, when I pick up Tell Me No Secrets, I don't feel like anything needs to be  changed. I'm pleased with the finished version and I want to feel the same way about this second novel. So there will be more work to do but in the meantime...

I'm trying to have a week off. Today, so far, I've been to the dentist, hairdressers and optician. And then I decided to treat myself and start the third novel. The beginning of a story is wonderful - a blank page and endless possibilities. There's no right or wrong. It won't be shown to anyone; it wouldn't stand up to criticism. To all intents and purposes, it reads like a jumble of conflicting ideas - It starts in Brighton, suddenly it's in Edinburgh. It's in the past tense, then the present, then the past again. The main character has two children and then she has three and one moment she's at work then she's in a boat. Now I have 2,235 words of free writing and the germ of an idea that's pulling this way and then that way. I remember seeing an interview with Meryl Streep where she said the fun part of acting was before filming begins when everyone has the script and sits around the table discussing the characters, the plot and he process of realising the whole story on film. And for me this is the fun part of writing - finding my way into a story, setting the parameters - the tone, the landscape, character motivation and all the stuff that's going to 'happen'.

And now I have time to read again, something I find almost impossible to do when I'm in the throes of telling a story myself. Beside my bed there are fifty-six novels ranging from John Connolly The Lovers to Anne Tyler Noah's Compass but Margaret Atwood's latest The Year of the Flood is going straight to the top of the pile. I love the way she writes.

The email to my website took a bashing recently when my computer conked out and I had to buy another. I know I lost several email requests but I don't remember names and addresses, so if you wrote to me and I didn't answer - I'm not being rude! - please write again. I will answer every email.

August marches on. I'm back from the family holiday in Normandy - my lot, plus my brother and family, my sister and her partner and our mum. It was great fun and begs the question - why didn't we do it sooner?? 

When I logged back on, it was a boost to see a positive review in the Daily Mail and a short story I wrote published in the Sunday Express magazine. Louise, my publicist at Hodder, quietly works away to get me publicity and I'm grateful for that. 

... On with the writing. I'm three weeks away from finishing the second draft of the second novel. It's a lot better than the first draft was. I've rewritten great swathes of it and rearranged the order in which I reveal information to the reader and hence to the main character, Claire. (I have a tendency to reveal almost everything by Chapter 4 - I did it in the first draft of both novels and then had the characters with nothing to do for the rest of the chapters.) 

Today I'm rewriting Chapter 10 and at the same time jumping forward to a scene closer to the end as it feels 'alive' in my head. My first creative writing teacher always said 'write where the energy is' and that remains very good advice. There are, of course, the times where necessity means you just have to slog away at the 'hard bits' - for me those are the bits where the prose is about 50% there. In my head, I know what I'm trying to say, but I haven't written it well enough. I make myself sit there and keep trying different angles, different words until it's closer to the good stuff. It makes me sigh and talk to myself and lie down on the floor of the five feet by seven feet cluttered space that I call my study - yes, I need to remember to keep the drama on the page! - but it's incredibly satisfying to finish the day with a completed scene, or maybe even just a couple of hundred words that feel absolutely right.

It's now a full week since I gave up the day job. I've been writing every day, steadily, some days better than others. I've learned not to judge myself too harshly. As long as I hit a minimum of 1,000 words a day and don't wander off plot, I'm happy. 

As a treat, along with two shortbreads and a cup of tea, I saved up the second series of Mad Men to watch one episode each day. True to form, my greed got the better of me. I watched two or three a day and have now finished Series 2. I found it absolutely mesmerising. It seems to me to be completely confident about what it is. It's slow but it never feels like it's dragging; it's oblique without being confusing and subtle without losing impact. Just when I'm beginning to find a character unsympathetic, the writers show us some vulnerability and it is both poignant and profound.   

If there's a Susie Barrett from Glasgow reading this, then thank you Susie for posting a comment after the review Tell Me No Secrets was given in the Scotsman living section on Saturday. The reviewer did have several positive comments to make but the tone of the critique was ... well - she herself admitted that she was 'carping'. I'm not deluded - of course I expected some less than flattering reviews. As a writer, if you can't take criticism, life will be tough. I don't expect everyone to like my work. Some will; some won't. It's horses for courses and long before I started to write, I often thought that reviewers should declare at the outset their top ten favourite books so that someone reading the review can have an idea of whether or not their likes are similar. I will never win the Booker prize - no false modesty - I simply won't. I don't write the sort of clever books that critics want to dissect and swoon over. I write to entertain. That's all. In my mind this reviewer was missing the point. But then what do I know? - I only wrote it. 

Time flies by and it's already a week since I travelled back from Scotland. Rubha Fiola is the most beautiful place and for anyone out there who is thinking of a kayaking/abseiling/climbing/fishing experience for themselves or a group of children, it's worth checking out. We were blessed with glorious weather and the midges, for the most part, stayed away. Spectacular sunsets, dolphins, seals and rugged mountain scenery but what i liked best about it was the lack of white noise. There is no electricity on the island and at night it was pin-drop quiet. I don't think I've ever been anywhere so utterly tranquil; my inner batteries were charged in a very real way. And the drinking water - wow! ...Simple pleasures. It's piped from a well two islands away and it tasted divine. Big thank you to Torquil and all his able instructors for giving us such a great week.

I didn't do a whole lot of writing while I was away but what I did do was go through my manuscript with the help of Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook by Donald Maass. Maass is a literary agent in New York and knows a thing or two about novel writing. It's a useful book because, for someone like me, who given half the chance wanders off plot and ends up diluting the pace with more sideways than forward motion, it reminds me of what I'm trying to achieve. There are loads of writing books out there, and at least seventy of them are on the shelves behind me, but this book is one that I go back to because it forces the writer to ask insightful questions of his characters and plot and has practical advice that, when followed, actually makes a difference to the quality of the finished product. I recommend it to anyone who wants to write fiction - literary fiction less so, perhaps, although my personal favourites in literary fiction are the ones that involve decent plotting - for example, Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood - thought-provoking, complex plotting and rich characterisation. Clearly, she is a writer of serious literary merit but still that novel ticks every box as far as 'commercial' story telling goes. 

Tomorrow I'm heading off to Rubha Fiola - an island off the West Coast of Scotland. I'll be gone for a week. It's my final school trip with a group of children I've been going away with for three years now. They're all turning twelve. They're wild and they talk too much but they're also very resourceful and up for a good time. We've been all over the UK together - Dorset, Wales, Lake District and Norfolk. Now it's Scotland's turn. There's no electricity on this island. Living quarters are primitive. Forecast is rain...

Never mind. I can't lose a whole week of writing so I'm taking my printed out manuscript, a notebook and pen and - some optimism.

See you in a week.

Last week was an eventful one - my eldest son was mugged in Leeds, my youngest son broke his rib river tubing in Vietnam - or was he in Cambodia? Whatever - I just want him home now! (And yes, I know that Facebook has its faults, but it really is a wonderful way to follow teenage children around the world and see their photos just hours after they're taken.)

On Thursday I managed my first public reading without being sick or falling over. The Needlemakers in Lewes is the loveliest venue, the audience were attentive and smiling(!) and so many of my writing buddies turned up - big thank you to them.

This photo, by the way, is of my dog Chloe. I'm sitting on a bench at the top of the golf course and she's waiting patiently for us to set off again. She is a great companion for a writer - she takes me as she finds me and is ever ready with a wagging tail and comforting vibe. Here's to dogs.

Thank you also to those new friends I'm making - those of you who have written to me here at the website. I thought, at first, that I would speak into a vacuum for months before anyone would get in touch but hurrah! ... i was wrong.

And so to writing. I am in the process of getting back into my second novel. After feedback from my editor(s) at Hodder, I need to rewrite a substantial amount. For me, writing boils down to articulating the feeling i have in my head/heart/gut about the story as best as I possibly can. So when I'm out walking the dog, I 'feel' the scene and then I come back home and translate it on to the page/screen. First off, it's a disappointment and then I work at it, over and over, until it best represents what I'm trying to communicate. I haven't discovered any short cuts to the process. Although this is my second novel, I'm still, to some extent, moving forward into darkness, the lamp I'm carrying lighting only a couple of steps ahead of me.

And talking of lamps, in just over three weeks I give up my day job. I have spent the last thirteen years working in a fantastic boarding school as the nurse. I've had so much fun there and was kindly taken out for lunch by a dozen of my colleagues on Sunday. They are special people, truly they are, and as I'm only three minutes away by car, I will be staying in touch!

On Tuesday this week I went to the Royal Albert Hall to see Eric Clapton. A virtuoso performance from a master, it was a real treat. The two-hour set included those songs that made him famous plus an acoustic section in the middle that was awesome. And he was accompanied by the best musicians - not least Steve Gadd on drums.

I was brought up in a house where drumming was the 'thing'. My dad was a great dancer and had rhythm in his soul; my brother John has gone on to be an excellent drummer. Steve Gadd was one of his heroes and he met him back in Edinburgh in 1993. He asked him how he put together his famous samba phrase - the one he used on Steely Dan's Aja. John had been trying to figure it out in his bedroom for years and there they were, both slapping their thighs, and Gadd says, 'You need to add the double on the bass-drum ..... there you go!'

My brother never forgot it. As he said, 'So generous. What a gentleman.'

On the way back home on the train, I was thinking about the creative process. I am only at the beginning and I am in awe of musicians, writers and painters who make it look effortless. I used to have a great love for clever sentences and descriptions and while they have their place, I don't think they should draw attention to themselves and so get in the way of the plot. Detail is important, it helps create pictures and feelings for the reader, but less is often more and, for the most part, I agree with George Orwell's advice to 'never use a long word where a short one will do.

At the moment I'm writing the second draft of my second novel and it's ... hard work. Not that I don't enjoy it, because I most definitely do, but finding the 'right words' is a balancing act of creativity, critical thinking and intuition.

I'll get there. 

The two questions I have most often been asked since Tell Me No Secrets came into print are - Where did you get the idea for the story and how long did it take you to write it?

The story didn’t come fully formed – do they ever?! - It grew out of a writing class exercise. I was taking a course at the University of Sussex called Autobiography and the Imagination. Our second assignment was to write an autobiographical piece and add in three lies. The flashback in Chapter One was that piece.

I filed it away in my writing folder and it was about seven months later, when I was going through my work, that I had a What if? moment. What if something happened at the camp? What if Orla and Grace had a fight? What if that fight led to a death? And they kept it a secret? And now they’re grown up? ... and so on.

I used several sheets of A3 paper to plan story and character arcs and then began to write the first draft of the novel. My goal was not publication, but simply to get to the end. I’d started three novels before TMNS, got as far as thirty thousand words and then, when it seemed like I was hanging on to the reins of half a dozen horses about to bolt off in all different directions, I gave up.

This time I made it. With perseverance and sheer bloody-mindedness, I wrote 95,000 words. It was a story. It had a beginning, a middle and an end. It had taken me nine months to write and another three months of polishing and finally, I had a finished product.
With hope rather than expectation, I wrote to an agent. I was both delighted and anxious when he said he liked the set-up of the novel but not the way the plot developed. After a chat with him, I could see that he was right. I hadn’t fulfilled on the ‘promise’. The development of the plot was unsatisfying.

Simultaneously scared that I wouldn’t be able to do it and optimistic that I would, I plunged back in and rewrote it, pushing both Grace and Orla to act decisively so that a showdown was inevitable.

Six months later we had the final draft.