The Worth Of Words



On May 19th I pushed out my first blog. At that time I was in my little home in France. Blogging was apparently all part of reaching one’s readers and building a platform. I must confess that I sighed a little when Rosina told me that this was what the modern author does. I decided to do it everyday, I think as a form of the discipline that you need to write anything. Deadlines are the best possible master. For me there is always a feature to read or a last ever chocolate to eat before I’m ready to write. So, TODAY completes 6 months of daily blogging. Manuals about self promo tell you that it is hard to think of a subject. My problem has been that it is hard to choose which of the many to attack. As I write this, my book “Knockout” sits at No 1 in the Kindle Romance/ Suspense Romance tag search. I think it changes by the second and works on a formula too deep for tears. (Check out these last four lines of Wordsworth’s Ode on Intimations….) 

Thanks to the human heart by which we live,  205
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

I was not looking for a tacky DJ style link to this piece. The full text is here. If there is one poem that really tries to tackle the slippery subject of metaphysics, this is it for me. 

I know I should not, and I assure you it will be the last time, but the affairs of Silvio Berlusconi have once again caught my attention. In common with very few world leaders, he was a cruise ship crooner. As he resigned from office he released an album of songs called “True Love”. I just wish I could have been at meetings between him and Angela Merkel. He was an outrageous clown and so often accused of immorality and corruption. All the same he coloured my life a little and I can’t believe that he will never influence the odd character creation in many a novel. Ecco la musica. He was a monster – with a perma-tan facelift.

Looking back on my blogs I do chastise myself for my unkindness to  some members of the teaching profession. Since the corporate tide swept Gilles to London for a while I have been back in the UK. I was lucky to find some casual temporary work as a bus driver and have been plodding a route with special needs kids. Everything I’ve said about the horrid teacher petty types is true. Since these characters are for more spiky and in your face, I have been guilty of noticing them more. This week I was chatting to an angel without knowing it. One kid is very challenged and has laundry issues. One day I happened to see his shirt was different and clean as he boarded the evening bus. The teacher washes stuff up for him. She’s never reported a bus driver for being a minute late or early and she’s never shouted her mouth off about being an angel. But she is! Obviously going nowhere in this world.

Emma thinx: Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach. Those who can do both, LOVE.


Holding Out For A Hero



Really I’m a bit of a pleaser type. If I write something I’ve got half an eye on what I think folk want to read. I don’t think I could have been a Charles Bukowski although I do admire him. He portrayed himself as a drunken sexist, although I’ve found that men like me more when they’re drunk. He spent years sending his poetry to editors and getting knocked back. For years he worked as a postman and from his own account in his book “Post Office” was hardly employee of the week. When I’ve entered poetry competitions I have been guilty of double guessing what the judges would like instead of ploughing the arid furrow of artistic truth. In social situations I try to pretend to be kinda like the other folk there and just go home. As an employee I’m semi obsequious because I want people to be pleased with me. I think I am most people don’t you?


All of this brings me on to another of my heroes. Yes – you’ve probably guessed it – Silvio Berlusconi, that slimy arrogant self seeker who should be the enemy of all righteous pure people like me. Take a look at this clip which is just so outrageous that when I first saw it I could not believe it. Also notice that he only had about a quarter of the hair on his head that he has today. The point is that people like this represent the possibility of being audacious and getting away with it. I would not want this guy anywhere around me, but I rejoice in the comedy of his vileness. This is a most inconsistent argument and I’m not proud of it. But it sure makes me laugh. 


I’m missing France and the French language. I’ve been tweaking the foreword to Oscar’s book and called him. In the background he was playing Jacques Brel singing “La Chanson des Vieux Amants”. Brel was an unparalleled genius as a musician and a poet. If you love French, or your soul longs to understand its longings or you feel homesick, have a chocolate and a weep with me. Go on, give in! This song is so beautiful in French. 


Emma thinx: The imbalance of your inconsistencies = YOU.