As you know, I’m not just a writer, but an avid reader too. Obsessive, in fact. From an early age, I used to badger my older sister to read me the Biff and Kipper books, then trapse around with my mother to find book bargains at the local car-boot sales. They were just 20p back then, in case you were wondering… those were the days!
I’m all for having fun with writing. After all, that’s why we do it, isn’t it; so we can dive into worlds of our own making and have a right laugh in the process? (Except all you authors writing about mass-murders and bleak stuff; that’s maybe not quite as amusing.)
I’m not usually one for New Year’s Resolutions. Mainly because I seem unable to keep them, especially if they involve cutting back on chocolate, alcohol or any other vice. Years of experience has taught me that my will-power is at its most pathetic around mid-January, which doesn’t bode well for any half-hearted promises made the week before!
I’m a terrible one for getting carried away about Christmas. You know that scene in Elf, where Will Ferrell gets over-excited about the prospect of seeing Father Christmas and starts literally bouncing on the spot? That’s not far off my own reaction…hence we’ve now living in a house that’s starting to resemble a magical grotto / junk yard (depending on your view-point).