A Boat For My Potplants

My nautical project took me to glorious places, metaphorically speaking. There were parties on board. There was The World's Smallest Pirate Radio Station. Of course there were plants. And one day even a gorilla.
The boat also became my 'Writer's Retreat'. I decided to become an author, writing my debut novel aboard the boat. The book, called MUDDY WATER, was naturally set in Wivenhoe. Amazingly, several local people paid good money to have their names appearing in the book, and a lot of cash was raised for worthy charities - the RNLI, MIND, The Samaritans, and The Royal British Legion.
Now, my next multi-singular selling novel, FLORIDA KEY, is in 'production', due for publication in October 2017.
I'm sure to be visiting writers' block along the way, as well as euphoria, self-doubt and inspiration.
See how my book goes through all the stages - from initial concept to final print. I'll take you with me on my personal journey as I work on the words, on the cover, on the marketing, and on the publishing.
Maybe it will inspire you too to have a go at bringing out THE BOOK IN YOU. Everyone has a story in them, just waiting to be told, and after all, if I can do it, anyone can.
(Click on the tabs below to see more about the Writer's Retreat In France, the old Boat For My Potplants, Tallulah the Motorhome, Alfonso the Car, and Jane the Woman. And to find out more about MUDDY WATER the novel, click the cover to be transported to its Facebook page)

Friday, 8 July 2011

What A Fiddle

Well, I spent a very peaceful night in the bedroom of The Boat For My Potplants. I woke up to the sound of the seagulls hovering by in the garden outside, and I thought it was time to try out my new stove and gas canister that I bought from Tesco (good value at less than fifteen quid). I played around with it for a few minutes and then it all made sense. I turned it on and hey presto, it ignited. And of course I had to have a tin of Heinz All Day Breakfast.

The old copper kettle that I bought off Mark, from a few boats down river, did me proud, and very soon I was peacefully sitting out in the back dining room, with the canopy rolled up and the morning sun streaming in, eating breakfast for one at the dining table.

I tried to read the paper but I had ants in me pants, and kept looking to see how I could improve the kitchen. An hour later I had my work-bench out on the quay, with tools and plywood set to go, ready to make some shelves to hold the plates and glasses on the wall.

Mike came by and informed me that I wasn't making a shelf, but instead it's called a 'fiddle' - and that it's not for the kitchen, but the 'galley'.

What does he know?

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