Dishing the Dirt

Posted on June 21, 2011 by emmacalin

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Readers may be wondering about the joint family. When I started the blog I decided that it was enough for the poor dears to be genetically tied to a dotty old Doris, without the humiliation of appearing as walk ons in my world famous ramblings. All parents manage to embarrass their kids – you know the disco dancing and the odd kitchen fumble or worse! Well what are breakfast bars for? And once it’s washing up time where else can you be sure of being unchaperoned by brats? Just imagine having a gushing purple proseoid as a mother. All six are fully sensible souls who have no wish to flit the gilded gamut of frills that is the realm of the romantic scribbler. My own parents were so embarrassing that even to this day I can’t speak of them. Let’s just raise the issue of silk loin cloths, inappropriate naturism and unexpected visits of school friends. Ah well……

So returning to the issue of family, I’ve always thought how terrible it must be for the family of all those caught up in public scandal. When I was about 25 I realised that I didn’t know anything. One of the remedies was to install French TV in the house using money we didn’t have. These days you can navigate in Europe by looking at the satellite dishes…..they all point more or less South towards planet Murdoch (for les anglais) and to planet Astra 1 for les français. By the way, if you’re planning to move to France and have an old Sky box and mini dish it’ll work fine. You get them for a song on e bay and you can get all the UK freeview channels. Gilles can advise on fitting it. When he gets out his tools he’s a man on a mission.

Anyway – having put in this massive dish system I started to watch only French TV.( My then husband became a long distance lorry driver.) One of my favourite shows was ‘Sept sur Sept’ which was on a Sunday night and hosted by Anne Sinclair. Every week she interviewed a politico or celeb. I recall Silvio Berlusconi on one programme. He talked in excellent French about the great European project. Not once did he invite the impossibly blue eyed Ms Sinclair to a bunga-bunga party. I just sat there repeating what they said and thumbing through my dictionary while the kids waited for their dinner. All these years later she has turned up as the wife of DSK, who is awaiting trial in New York for an alleged sexual assault on a hotel maid. What ever the truth of it my heart goes out to her. She is rich and still beautiful but utterly helpless while an uncaring world cries “La boue sucks.” Gedddit?

Emma x
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Don’t turn a Drachma into a crisis

Posted on June 20, 2011 by emmacalin

How ironic that the movie “Mamma Mia” was set in Greece and featured that show stopper “Money, money, money….” Whilst politicos wring their hands and bankers predict ruin, many Français will simply tell you that this is the natural pattern of capitalism…….and that there will always be life, cuisine (they don’t do food), sex and Le Tour de France. My suspicion is that many paysans are completely indifferent to the fate of banks because their wealth is under the mattress or buried under the dung pile guarded by cockerels, chiens mechants and geese. They tend to be savers rather than spenders and have an instinctive suspicion of credit. It is criminal offence to bounce cheques. All the same, French banks are massively exposed to Euro zone sovereign debt. We live in interesting times and my feeling is that government bonds are poised to become the new sub-prime. Don’t throw away any of those old holiday Drachmas. If Michael Schumacher can come back……….. And do you know what ? There will always be life, cuisine, sex and Le Tour de France.

If ever you wanted to illustrate the deep cultural divide between the USA and the true cultural capital of the world you need look no further than my current reading material. Readers from yesterday will recall that I’m walking on the wild side of romance with a Harlequin Azur called “Pour une unique nuit d’amour”. My South London working girl translation would be “For just one night of love”. This book was originally released in America under the title “Pregnant with the billionaire’s baby”. Now, I don’t want to spoil the story but there’s this girl in possession of a womb. Then, there’s this billionaire in possession of a view from his penthouse. They come together. If I say any more the suspense will destroy you.
Readers will recall my spotting of the cute adorable ragondin on the banks of the Charenton. Look what I found in the fridge behind the pineau. I told you he’d go native!

Emma x
Read more on my website http://www.emmacalin.com

Doing it by the book

Posted on June 19, 2011 by emmacalin

I think I was about 25 when I first heard the word icon. I guess that before that time there were not so many of them. Since then icons and geniuses have been multiplying so that soon almost everyone and everything will be one or the other if not both. In football commentary, several geniuses play in iconic matches and venues several times a week. Well, as a Sunday treat I’m gonna talk about 2 icons. One is the Citroen Deux Chevaux (2CV) and the other is the publisher Mills and Boon. This pairing is obvious since they are both famous, successful, lightweight, cheap and are constructed to contain at least one cow and generally a prize bull. And above all – THEY ARE STILL HERE!

In Charentes, some of the oldest vehicles are still on the road – not as weekend hobbies but as up and running day to day transport. Several Deux Chevaux two cylinder pop-pop-pop up the road most days and I see many old Renault 4’s, Citroen Dyanes and even a Simca Aronde. Now, I know we romantic novelists would not be expected to be petrol heads, but I am in a kinda nostalgic fuzzy way. Jeremy Clarkson has done all he can to make me hate cars – but I think I just hate boorish juveniles. Now, don’t get me on politics!

I am reading “Pour une unique nuit d’amour” by Carole Mortimer(in translation). This is a Harlequin / Mills and Boon romance in which a female photographer loses control of her exposure and focus and winds up being at the pregnant end of a shoot. That’s as far as I’ve got and pour être honête I like it. Shoppers can take a walk into a world of international passion, glitz and romance for 3.85 Euros at the Intermarché, between the bin liners and the light bulbs. If you’re learning French get a couple of Harlequin collection Azur and tone up that vocabulary and your pelvic floor all at once . The writing is clear and avoids complex tenses and figures of speech. Find the book here.

Bon Dimanche. Emma x

Cream Tease

Posted on June 15, 2011 by emmacalin

Well, this is England. Yesterday June was busting out all over my bust and today I’m simply busted. A crow and I stare mournfully at each other as I look out onto Rosina’s soggy lawn. He cocks a watchful bluish eye at me. He knows my mortality. He’s sizing up my sinews – if not for him then for a future re-mix of his inescapable black feathered genes. I tell him we are Buddhists in the same cycle. He says that given the chance he will eat me. Well, that’s what I meant actually.
So, it rains and drizzles that gorgeous self indulgent mournfulness that is the secret sunny side to sadness. C’mon, don’t say you’ve never been there. For some scenes I have to try and get that feeling…a bit of Beethoven No 7 helps, but a sunny day just wipes it out. A sunny day is for kisses – God yes, kisses kisses kisses. I read so many Romances without sexy kisses. That is because too many of us live without sexy kissy LOVE. Plain hardcore is for crows and they are planning to eat you.

So, having done some more audio and helped to script a video trailer, we deserved a treat. We drove to the old picturesque town of Stockbridge. To be frank it’s a bit crushed by traffic and people so posh that even their jodhpurs and Lyahndrovahs have accents. My accent is a bit Pekham/Pigalle n’est-ce pas? Innit. All the same the town is cut glass Anglais and Rosina decided to take tea at one of the genteel tea rooms. Apparently it used to be a filling station.

A sweet child begged if I would indulge her with my order. I ordered a pot of tea and some fruit cake.
“I will have to pose the question as to whether we may serve the fruit cake – I believe it to be reserved for another client.”
“I only want a small tranche.” I replied in mid Channel posh – (aren’t you impressed with my slickesse) voice.
The child returned. The fruit cake was not allowed. It was RESERVED.
I took tea and an almond slice. In gay abandoned nonchalance I sugared my tea from the bowl of posh white crystals on the table. Well, we all need salt in our diet don’t we?

Comes in bowls

Posted on June 14, 2011 by emmacalin

OK – I’ve been writing today and I’ve been allowed to record some audio poems. Once free, I emerged into the stunning gentle beauty of the Test Valley. If you’ve not been here, put it on your priority list with Venice, Paris and Charentes. Yes – it is a gentle beauty, self confident, thatched and patched with fields of green and gold, called by crows, bumble hummed with bees, lifted by larks, softened by silence. This evening a team play cricket on a village green, an impossible profusion of roses slam dunk cottage doors with exclamation marks of belligerent tenderness. These hammer blows of beauty kiss as I imagine an angel would kiss a lamb. OK that’s double purple flame grilled whopper OTT – but that’s want I want to say to you about the power of this loveliness. Rejoice in this life. Kiss your lover as if their lips were love itself. Don’t let me be the only sad romantic, tearful as an iris blooms and a duck planes in to land on mirrored water.

Cricket – I had to mention it. My first memories of cricket were as a girl when my father and brothers listened to it on the radio. It was always the same commentary “Higginbottom, polishes the ball on his testicles, comes in from the gas works end, bowls around the wicket to Homerton-Smythe who bat and pads it away to silly mid off. A ripple of applause stirs pigeons on the boundary as the scoreboard records another maiden had over.”

Never can I serve soup or dessert without saying “comes in – bowls.” Oh dear, I’m getting a bit dotty and potty. I need my man!!!!

The Drama Queen’s Speech

Posted on June 13, 2011 by emmacalin

OK. just between you and I – and I mean that – I was wrong. I know this is a rare situation but, yes, I was wrong. Today was the audio day. I presented myself at Rosina’s office (It’s a kinda pre-fab in her garden. I was to read a masterpiece for publication. I felt humbled even though I wrote it myself. For hours I toiled amongst sound deadening egg boxes. I emerged into a sea of troubled faces. Well, Rosina and her partner Bob who twiddles knobs.

“We – I don’t think your voice…..” He began.
“What?” I screamed – “I’m the bloody genius who wrote it!!!!”
Rosina and Bob laboured away trying to assure me that I was a genius but with the voice of a moron. Look – you just cannot accept personal and professional re-assurance from a bloke called Bob. Rosina de Montfort…….um…..well, at least it has gravitas, a sense of history and sounds as if she could cook a tagine of lamb.

So, like I said – I did the only thing a passionate romantic novelist could do. I went off on one.I took a bike from the garage and rode about 5 miles to Danebury hill fort. Here I offered my spirit to the pagan gods on the altar of my own ego. Well, until I began to feel a bit silly. These ramparts were built in olden times to protect the natives from rival tribes and invading hordes. Walk calmly and reflect and you can imagine their fear and longing for safety. I could smell the burning fat of their rush lamps, the cycle and acceptance of their life. A few years ago I wrote a poem about a hill fort and you can find it on here on: my poems page

Then I rode back. You guys are the first to know of my suffering.

Everything has its place.

Posted on June 12, 2011 by emmacalin

Rain. Sweet Rain that filters through the chalk downland to refresh the river Test and its tributaries. Rain also in France but all the same Gilles phoned to say he’s going out on his bike with les garcons. Now, where do you stand on the whole Lycra/lunch box issue? Should skin tight sports clothing be like booze, fags and solvents with an age limit where no one over the age of say 50 should be allowed to buy it? There is also the issue of speedo swimwear. Last year Gilles was banned from the local piscine for wearing swim shorts. An obliging attendant was on hand to sell him some budgie smugglers. In the UK you get banned for wearing speedos cos apparently one looks like a dirty old man.(Well the men do I guess). Personally I hate the whole screaming in chlorine flavoured urine experience and never go.

On the subject of bikes I’ve noticed a new trend here in the UK. In France old guys ride about on 30 year old Peugeot racers. Here you see mobs of exec types with i pods and smart phones riding bikes with bleeping sat naffs. One of those pelican things swept through the village yesterday evening. The bikes wouldn’t disgrace those carbon fibre exotica of the Steroid-EPO team. Watch out for this team in the Tour de France- they’re almost certain winners. And where are the girls? I just hope they’re warm and dry with a good Romance to read. “Zak unclipped from his pedals and stepped away from his Fandango carbon XR47 special edition and leant it against the wall. As he turned towards the street in his turquoise Lycra shorts, Immelda’s legs buckled and she sank to her knees.”

Rosina was up early tapping out some blurb for a book about electric trains. She did bring me a cup of tea and enquire if I would be working on my book with a kinda tweaky eyebrow high flyer human dynamo expression on her face. These Anglo Saxons are just so angled.

Genda benda agenda

Posted on June 11, 2011 by emmacalin

Wow! here I am in the beautiful Test Valley. My wonderful friend and literary agent Rosina picked me up from Southampton airport and I find myself in the green green grass of Hampshire. They say there’s a drought here – but believe me, they know nothing. Gilles dashed me to the airport for 12.30. Lunch was a Flybe sandwich. No time for baguette this morning and no writing done! Ah well – it’s a day off. Her cottage (she says its haunted), is close to the country town of Romsey and the gorgeous gardens of Mottisfont Abbey and House. I might just give you a little hint that my latest novel could involve unsuitable and forbidden love in an English period house.

It was at Mottisfont house a few years ago that I chanced to find a real treasure of a book in a second hand sale. The book is called “Indian Love” by Laurence Hope. I had never heard of her before. She had to pretend to be a man and also pretend that her poems were translations of Indian love songs since they were so passionate,(perhaps slightly sexually ambiguous ladies) and therefore quite unsuitable for a respectable gal. Won’t drone on about her cos you can look her up on Wiki and her poetry speaks for itself.If she needs any other endorsement let me say that Thomas Hardy was a fan. She took her own life soon after the death of her husband in 1904.

I’m missing my lovely man….he’ll have a sweet little bunny rabbit in the pot by now. I just know her will!

Home for tea

Posted on June 9, 2011 by emmacalin

Oh dear – gonna have to go back to UK for about a week. The guys at Gallo-Romano Media want to do some audio stuff and video trailers for Knockout and my new book. It’s at that stage where I feel like a marsupial momma. There’s this little live thing peeking out of my pouch. Oh world, I’m not ready yet – please be kind.

I like to write early although I do need lots of Yorkshire Gold tea and often the Gallic hot baguette before I get going.(Now then -that’s fusion for thee in’t it lass). Then I do my blog which I really enjoy because it allows me to just chat. Book characters have to be disciplined and follow some kinda plot. I can’t write onto a a keyboard – If I do, the work looks finished and of course every line needs a bit of polish. It means I am slow and several novels have gone straight in the bin. At least they will have been recycled into toilet paper. I’ve probably bought back a few chapters at the hypermarché…..but at least it’s a sale!

Of course I like to read Romance, particularly in styles that I simply could not do. That way I’m not gonna steal anything. Today I’m reading “Fantasy Lover” by Sherrilyn Kenyon on my Kindle. I’m halfway through a Greek love slave. No baguettes or stuffed olives so far but it looks like he knows a few tricks with flour and anchovies. This has had good reviews on Amazon. Should I review it? What the hell do I know anyway? AND SHE MIGHT BITE.

So, let’s look up the Brittany Ferries web site and choose some clothes. I’ve sorta hippied out in France and the Anglo Saxons are hardcore big biz. I’ll stock up with Yorkshire Gold anyway.

Turned off? Get your hands on your switch and enjoy.

Posted on June 8, 2011 by emmacalin

Those things that influence us fall into two categories. Those we are aware of and those that are hidden or so built in that we just cannot see them. Other writers obviously influence me. Good writers create readers. Great writers create other writers. Ho hum, I’ll settle for readers! The singer Edith Piaf has been the most powerful influence on my life and work. I heard her singing on the radio by chance and was so drawn to her sound and language that I decided to teach myself French. If you’ve ever longed to learn a language and the school system turned you off, get some music of the language you want, turn yourself back on and get singing. Put all those classroom humiliations behind you and learn a song. Sing it in your head. You don’t have to show out until you are ready. Babies just gurgle and listen. Suddenly WHEN THEY ARE READY they go for it. Also try using the accent and flavour of your new language in your own tongue. Oh wee, ziss is ow you can do eet. I tell you, zair will bee uh no regrets.

Check out the life of Edith Piaf in the film La Vie en Rose. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5gpBncR8zI&NR=1

I’ve added a poem which reflects my own tiny homage to her soul. It’s about living with who you are and what you are. Chanteuse