Updated via Twitter

I've added a Twitter widget and this blog will be updated only by live twitter feeds. Occasionally I'll add a post in the form of film or book reviews or something that moves me. But the era of blogging has passed and I much prefer Twitter and its 140 characters. Concentrates the mind.

Guest on Caroline Smailes Blog

Novelist Caroline Smailes invited me to do a guest spot on her blog so I wrote about the challenges of writing a screenplay out of a novel. Here's the link

YA and this adult reader

Just finished reading The Hunger Games. I loved it. And that's saying something because YA is not something I read. I couldn't even get past page 20 of the first Harry Potter but did watch the movies. I think The Hunger Games appealed because it's lean and focused in that it gets to the main conflict quickly and doesn't lose track throughout the narrative. It also helps that the characters are relateable and the plot's set in the real world, albeit that it's in the future and has some futuristic qualities. I think that's why it's appealing to a wide audience that includes adults.

Good story that's suspenseful. Good characters.

Looking forward to tucking into Book 2.

North London Book Group

Just did a great interview with the above book group. I love great interviews like this.

Here's the link

I'm a guest on Strictly Writing Blog

I was invited by Gillian McDade (we're both from Northern Ireland) of the excellent Strictly Writing Blog to be a guest so I wrote a piece for it.

It's about writing a second novel after all the hoop-la of getting published settles down.

Here's the post.

Author Patricia Wood's comment on my new novel

Twisted Agendas has been published recently in UK and Ireland and it's going really well. I had a great interview on BBC Radio Ulster's Arts Extra. Marie Louise Muir posed some tough questions about my work that kept me on my toes.

Very excited because of this gorgeous praise from Patricia Wood whose novel Lottery was shortlisted for UK's Orange Broadband prize.

Here's what she says.

In Twisted Agendas, Damian McNicholl has created a compelling and entertaining romp through other people's inter-tangled lives. All Danny wants to do is strike out on his own in London but from the very moment his path crosses with Piper's nothing is what it seems. From terrorists to lovers to meddling fathers, Damian deftly weaves comic misunderstandings with a larger more ominous theme of authority going slightly mad. Once I started reading I could not put Twisted Agendas down for a moment until I reached the satisfying conclusion. This is a novel that book clubs will certainly want to read and discuss."

Chopping Wood and return of Hornet

A tree feel near our house last week as a result of the violent storms we've been having of late. I was up in the office and heard it crash on the ground.
So, when a tree falls in the forest--yes, it can be heard, Virginia.

Spent yesterday and today cutting it and chopping it into pieces for firewood. It felt really good to do that kind of exercise as opposed to working my ass off on an elliptical at the Y.

On the subject of the Y, it's looking brilliant as a result of its multi-million dollar facelift. My old nemesis, the Hornet, continues to ride rough shod and hog the latest equipment. She's working out too hard now and is looking like one of Tom Wolfe's Social X-Rays. Still as rude as ever. As I just finished a 50 min session on fat burner mode (yes, 50 mins) on my (and her) favorite elliptical, she approached as I was wiping down the machine. She got on, opened her magazine without even a thank you and then said "The floor has a lot of your sweat on it, too." She peered down at it bug-eyed.

I looked at it, looked at her, looked at it again. "Keep your voice down," I said. "The others'll be jealous if they find out." And off I walked to the hoots of laughter of a lady nearby.

Sucking Up Yellow Jackets

Jeanne Denault is in my writers group, The Rebel Writers of Bucks County.

Her memoir Sucking Up Yellow Jackets has just released from O-Books and it's a funny, witty and sometimes poignant account of her raising a son with Aspergers Syndrome.

From climbing out of his cot within a few months of his birth to climbing a telephone wire hand over hand high above their terraced home in Philadelphia and then, as a teenager, dismantling a motor cycle simply because his mother demanded he had to get rid of it and he took that to mean literally, Jeanne depicts in precise, wry prose what it was like to bring up this super intelligent child at a time when Asperger's wasn't even understood by the medical community. She thought she was going mad or had spawned the devil's child.

Jeanne and her family moved around the states while Max was growing up--Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, Illinois where Jeanne's attempts to fit in among the 'meat and potatoes' women of the area drew their scorn when she made a gourmet dish featuring a mild curry sauce for a block party and incited their wrath. The family relocated to Pennsylvania again after Max had a few run-ins with the local police and judges. His teachers, some of his counselors and even her husband blamed her for some of his excesses.

A fast, dazzling and very enjoyable read.

Goings on

I really haven't blogged for a while. Has blogging become an oxymoron?
I used to read blogs and now seldom do. Why? I don't have the time and so many blogs are rubbish.

Besides, I do 140 character updates on Twitter that uploads automatically to my Facebook and blog.

And any time I do have should be spent on writing related to my fiction.

Anyway, the good news is I just finished a short story which I sent off to Booktrust in the UK who run a short story competition in conjunction with the BBC. I'm sure there will be tons of entries and chances are very slim, but if you're not in you can't win. In any event, it got me writing fiction again which is important.

I've been working very hard on the screenplay of a Son Called Gabriel

And meanwhile my UK publisher is wanting to move on my second novel--which is great but will require more work.

Shouldn't complain. I'm not. Good to be busy.

And on top of that, I've just read that Primeminster David Cameron has apologized for the massacre on Bloody Sunday in 1972 in Derry. That is the proper thing to do. My Mum and Dad were at that march and my Mum returned with her knees all bloodied. She'd crawled along the streets as the bullets flew over her head. We kids were terrified when we saw her. You never think of your Mum and Dad being a passionate civil rights marcher

Rereading one's work

Started rereading the new novel Twisted Agendas again and have decided I need to make some changes.

Was terrified it would suck as some of one's work does depending on one's mood.
On that point, I do wish some published writers would take their time and not churn out books. Some are really badly written and edited. Instead of building an audience, they're losing readers.

Am happy to report my novel reads pretty good. At least it dos to me, though I think I'm going to rewrite from a different point of view. Also just finished reading a book on writing techniques and feel inspired. We'll see.

About publishing

I'm about to start edits on my new novel Twisted Agendas, which my publisher in UK seems interested to acquire.

Now with iPad, Kindle and Sony and B&N readers, I'm wondering if I should self-publish as so many people seem to be doing these days. Publishers seem to make all the money in deals with writers and only a few of their authors breakout and make real money.

Gone or going are the days when self-publishing has been regarded as the step-sister of legitimate publishing. And James Joyce and a host of others self-published.

Changes are definitely coming with the advent and gaining popularity of e-books.

I guess I'll mull some more---

The trouble with plot is plotting

Recently my writer's group had a discussion about plotting; how arduous it is, how vital, how long-winded, how boring....did I say vital?
Some people just start a novel and write.
Others plot and outline.
Others never start.

Anyway, read what one of our member's blog about it. Marie is the author of a brilliant YA novel, What I Meant..., which we had the privilege of reading and critiquing until she sold it.

Here's Marie's post:

Just a reminder...

Although I don't blog on here as much or as long as I used to (need to spend my energy on writing that pays the bills, right?), I do Twitter and my tweets appear on my sidebar. That's on the right.

I do rather like Tweets. Everything's got to be said in 140 characters.

Vegetables, vegetables, vegetables

We made a sort of New Year resolution to cook 85% vegetarian to see how it goes. HAd tried the Fire Engine 2 diet which had a few great recipes. However, it was too restrictive in that food couldn't be cooked even in Olive oil.

So we decided to experiment, look around and find some great veggie recipes. And we found some including fragrant Indian and Thai dishes and a brilliant recipe for White Bean burgers.

So it's still on tract. Last time we tried wholly vegetarian we gave up dairy and now almost never have it. Sometimes a bit of cheese, but that's it.

Hardest thing so far is the wine--we've given it up for a few weeks. Let's face it nobody's ever going to lose weight and drink wine. It's sugar and it ain't happening.
No matter how you try to tell yourself you can still do it--it ain't happening.

First week without I had a headache. Now I just miss it.

My book's up

My UK publisher, a great independent called Legend Press, is featuring some of their books during Advent and it's A Son Called Gabriel's turn today.

So pop over to Legend Press and take a look (and consider purchasing) some of their truly great books.

Broad Street review

Broad Street by Christine Weiser is nothing short of an hilarious, entertaining romp peopled by idiosyncratic and wonderfully offbeat characters.

Okay, I'm biased. I love reading novels about strong, single-minded women with testosterone addled musician boyfriends with names like Dale who cause them endless worry and who cheat on them and treat them badly and then the women seek revenge
by setting up their own rock band that eventually starts to make it in the jealousy-riddled mid-90s Philly rock band scene.

In a story that brings the streets of Philadelphia and various haunts to glorious life, Weiser (who plays bass in a band) in unadorned, direct prose unfurls Philly mainline Kit's tale of a dead-end copy-editing job with a shrew boss called Jean who later radically transforms, drunken band practice sessions with her fellow musician Margo, a jaunt to play at a club in D.C., a spot of rivalry with another female band called The Pussy Willows and much regretted trysts in bed in untidy apartments with people she can't remember or doesn't like.

Published by PS Books, a division of Philadelphia Stories, this is a novel sure to please many, especially those who wish they'd taken the plunge and joined
that rock band in their hedonistic twenties.

It's available from Amazon and in paperback and has a Kindle edition, too.

Smorgasboard

We went to Atlantic City a week ago where we stayed at the Tropicana Hotel, which is really rather lovely. It's basically a casino with an Old Quarter replete with cobbled stones, overhead fans reminiscent of an Havana restaurant blowing gentle breezes in one's face and lots of interesting restaurants.

We dined at Cuba Libre, an excellent Cuban restaurant where we tried a special meal they prepared for people not used to Cuban food. Of course, the de rigeour black beans were there, as were the plantains--but so too was a variety of chicken dishes including pork and chicken awash in refreshing fruit marinades one associates with the tropics. Their thinly sliced toast and mango butter was delicious.

Larry and I now plan to go to the original Cuba Libre in Old City Philadelphia as a result.

As it was Larry's birthday, a couple of shows were in order. We saw Fame--rather good--and Cirque's Pandemonia--not so good; boring, in fact.

The board walk's apparently the best in the US--I found it long and tawdry. We walked it up to Taj Mahal, which was as I expected: Gaudy and tasteless interior, as gaudy as his tower on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, the only difference being there were wasn't any busy Italian granite on the walls. A warren, really. And, naturally, the Donald's book about getting rich was prominent in almost every window of the bazaar. I think it was called Ali's Bazaar or something.

And yes, fluttered a wee bit on the one-armed bandits and didn't win but did break even.
------------------
What a magnificent speech president Obama delivered last night. He is truly a leader, a man of decent intent, a man who represents all Americans. I cannot understand why sane people regardless of their political ideology would not want to improve the existing bloated heath care system we have currently with a just system that covers all Americans at a fair cost and without prejudice to income level or pre-existing condition. He is right to say we must move forward and that he will disregard the intentions and opinions of those who seek to maintain the staus quo.

Right wingers need to realize change is coming and get over the fact Obama won the election. Yes, a black man is leading the United States of America and he's doing a brilliant job. Get over yourself. Contain your hatred. Examine your consciences and be true and decent Americans.


Left wingers need to realize there will be National Health Care system in America. This country loves private enterprise and decent, honest profits--not GREED--and the public option is a good way to move forward.

Thoughts about Ted Kennedy

I'm Irish and, of course, that means I'm supposed to hero-worship the Kennedy's as a matter of principle.

Well, I didn't. In fact, I never really was much concerned about their doings as I went about my life. I was a kid when JFK died. What I read about the senior father disgusted me, though I did like Rose. One flaw was her religiosity, so intense she could not forgive Kathleen for marrying into a British aristocratic family because they were Anglicans and would not attend her funeral after her tragic death.

I didn't intend to watch the funeral mass for Ted today. However, I did. I was riveted. Absolutely riveted. It was as if a President had died, perhaps more so.
I haven't really felt such biting sympathy for someone I didn't know since Princess Diana died.

Over the last couple of days, as I've watched the media, another picture of Teddy Kennedy began to emerge. One in which he was shown to be amazingly human and flawed, and kind, a man who wanted to do much good in his life, a man I know I'd have liked a lot if I'd ever met him.

It's true, the Kennedy's are quintessentially an American family. To borrow a cliche, they are indeed the closest a family will ever become to being American aristocracy.

And, of course, in their fiber and DNA, the Kennedy's are stolidly Irish no matter how far they've risen and American they've become. They celebrate raucously, sing the cheesy American ballads, gather together and love/hate one another. They relished their Irishness, celebrated it, never forgot it. They just wouldn't want to return to the old sod because it offered them nothing to begin with.

And there's a lot to be said about a modest family hungry with ambition, not content to rest until they achieve the farthest they can.

So, I'm sad he has passed before he had the opportunity to realize his dearest desire. I'm sure universal medical coverage will come. It's just he won;'t see it.

It's a given that the Irish like to tear down their own, sort of keep them in tehir place. I don't know why that is. Maybe other nationalities do it too.

Today I feel very proud to be Irish in America.

Rest in Peace, Senator Kennedy. You made this country a better place.

And my sincere condolences to the extended Kennedy family.

A Tale of Two Towns

Back from a beautiful relaxing week in Provincetown, Cape Cod.

It was my first time to P-town and I loved it. In many respects, New Hope in Bucks County is a little similar in that lots of artists, writers and gay and lesbians live there and it's a 'live and let live' community. But P-town has the upper hand because of the great beaches, bay and ocean where the water is ice-cold when you first get in but delicious after you're fully immersed.

The local people are exceptionally friendly--whether gay or straight--and visitors flock like seagulls from the Eastern seaboard, Canada and Europe mainly. (We had a seagull spend a few hours on the balcony of our condo and Larry even hand-fed him pieces of bread.)

Of course, having been to Rehoboth, it was inevitable I'd start to make comparisons in my mind between the beach towns. While Rehoboth has some charms--the beach is good and ocean pretty--it has many strip malls on the approach to the town center which render it chaotic and somewhat unappealing. I also think its fair to say P-town is more sophisticated and architecturally elegant. Admittedly, our friends now own a pretty home outside the town so we don't go into Rehoboth very much and instead visit Lewes, a much more elegant nearby village.

The straight visitors to Rehoboth Beach and P-town are very different. The vast majority of P-town's straight visitors and their kids are educated, friendly and possess the manners to be respectful and know how to conduct themselves on another territory that's welcoming and different to their own. That said, P-town does open its arms to a small number of ill-informed visitors arriving by hydrofoil from Boston to eat ice-cream and gawk at the gays and lesbians. Thankfully, they don't stay to dine in the fine restaurants and rush back to the boat dock at dusk where they again set sail for the Boston burbs, their hearts full of thanks that their beloved little 'buddies' and 'princesses' aren't that way, their minds brimming with sights of kissing homosexuals, nipple rings and other bizarreness to recount at the next PTA or fire station spaghetti dinner fundraiser.

No such luck for Rehoboth residents: they have Hooters and a variety of cheap restaurants where the out-of-towners congregate to continue their hostile looks and naked sense of superiority. I found more than enough such visitors to the Rohoboth Beach boardwalk to consider it a phenomenon. That said, one begins to comprehend but NOT sanction why this is so when one understands Rehoboth Beach lies in the south where there's an Evangelical or Southern Baptist church on every street corner and gun-toting rednecks reared on a diet of squirrels and shucked corn in the back woods.


One bonus for us was it was P-town's annual Carnival--what a sight at the Gay Bingo evening (won nothing, but came close) and later, on Thursday, as a legion of drag queens took to the sun-beaten Commercial Street in garish, hilarious array.

In ending, I have to admit I did buy a T-shirt. An elegant one, mind you. And a sweatshirt as well. Also elegant. Vintage in style, as if it's already ten years old.

ABBA and a Russian couple

Go my ABBA and fireworks display fix last night at Longwood Gardens, the former home of Piere duPont which he then gave to the nation.

We didn't have the greatest view as we were underneath a beautiful sprawling Cypress tree due to arriving a little after 4 p.m. and finding many had already staked their claim--leaving rugs and other personal belongings on the benches.

The fountains--installed by duPont in the 20s were spectacular, lighting up in an array of rainbow colors in time to the frantic beat of Dancing Queen, Take A Chance on Me, etc. And then came the spectacular finale to Waterloo, the hit that brought ABBA to the world stage when they won the Eurovision contest.

Only downer of the evening was a run-in with a Russian couple at the cafe--it was packed and they made everyone wait while they argued with first the server and then the manager because they wanted to mix-and-match menu choices that weren't available to them at the price they wanted to pay. (It has to be said they also cut the line.)

Helpfully (or so I thought), I said, "I think you'd be best just picking from the choices allowed as the manager's pissed off at you and the line for food is getting very long."

The woman looked at me--vulpine face with ice-blue eyes and a slash serving as a mouth--and said "Shut Up."

At that, the server ignored them and moved on to me.

Moral of the tale: There are nice Russian tourists and then there are the others.