May newsletter

Okay, so I know I said monthly... and I know I've been awful... and this probably won't be any better because they've changed blogger in my absence and now the screen looks all funny and I'm not sure what I'm doing... but anyway...

To round up the last few months... it is probably best to categorise things, isn't it?
First of all: Writing.

Book Six, or 'What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?' is done - bar the copy edits and will be in the shops (all being well, no floods/ famines/ world wars etc) at the end of August. The lovely people at Poolbeg have even furnished me with a cover which is divine and actually you would have thought they had read my minds because it suits the book perfectly.

I'm starting work on Book Seven, which has no firm name yet (did toy with 'The Heart of Me' but that was down to a pretty naff and shite session listening to Whitney Houston songs and feeling nostalgic and, out of context of a Whitney Houston song it doesn't actually make much sense, does it? ). I am finding it hard to get into writing this book but that could be because I have the fear.
This is my last book in contract with Poolbeg - I do not know what the future holds. So writing it feels a bit scary and intimidating and I feel it has to be really stand out. So no pressure there then? So far I've written three different starts - each of them will weave their way into the finished product. I'm just not sure how and what structure I'm going to take. (Dear agent if you are reading this, I am actually working, honest...)

Second of all: family.
I remember when my children were younger and at that very demanding "do it all for me" stage I thought life would be so much easier when they got bigger and a little more independent. I remember thinking I'd have bags of free time to do whatsoever I wished. This is not true. This is a big fat con. If anything the older they get the more demanding they get. Like, they want you wash more clothes. And cook them dinners not out of jars. (I never was an uber mammy) and drive them places, or help them with *horrors* homework. I'm also at that delightful toddler stage with the girl where I must answer approximately 5000 questions an hour. The call of "Why-ah?" happens a lot. (I do not know why she adds 'ah' to the end of lots of her words, but she does Why-ah, No-ah, yes-ah etc) There are times I have patience x a million with this. There are times when I wish to shout "I don't effin' know-ah". (Not that I would swear in front of my kids... of course....erm....).
But that aside - God they are some craic. The boy made his first communion on Saturday past and we had a brilliant day. I was not expecting to be so emotional with it all, but I did have to blink back tears a few times (not least because I'd had my make up done by a proper make up girl and I didn't want to ruin it).

The wee doll, as she is now known, is developing her own character more and more each day. Favourite part of the day, bar none, when she snuggles down to me in the evenings and tells me I'm her teddy bear. Bless her wee heart).

Third of all: The mental-ness
Hate to tempt fate, but it's okay, ish. As long as I remember to keep busy and take my tablets and when the crappy days come remind myself that it will pass. There are still times I am just so completely and utterly fed up with it. There are still times when I can be fine one minute and then feel horrendous the next, out of nowhere. But I think maybe I'm being a little more accepting of it? Fighting it made it worse. I need to fight to get better - I need the energy to put into that instead of refusing to accept all is not well in the first place.
Does that make sense? It kind of does in my head.

Fourth of all: The loveliness.
Folks... in BIG GIANT NEWS have spoken with Marian Keyes on Twitter. And she didn't tell me to feck off. Which was lovely of her. Twitter is a lovely place to be - why not visit and follow me @claireallan

Finally: Random Conversations with the Boy/ Girl

The Boy: To a picture of his late grandma: "You're my favourite person who died in the 90s".

The Girl: In chapel at the First Holy Communion, at a moment of silence and great solemnity, as loud as she could manage: "Mammy, how do babies get in your tummy". Followed by. "I need to a poo".

Ah, pride doesn't come close!

February...erm March newsletter

Erm... remember last month (or in fact, January) when I said I would update my blog more frequently and well, at least once a month?
Well, can we just ignore the silence that was February. To be fair, February was a bit mad. And a month I have been happy to consign to the bin and file under "months we must never, ever talk about again".
Generally January is my black month - where I mope about thinking about my tax bill (yeuch!) and how cold it is and all other such things. But January passed in quite an uneventful haze of writing, not being really all that cold and tax bill being paid just about on time.
February, however, unleashed itself like a hound of hell on me (Does that sound dramatic enough? I want it to sound just about as dramatic as it can?). First of all I HAD to finish the book - which meant writing around the clock on top of general mammy-ness and working full time and all that. (Not meant to be a woe is me post, but I felt a bit woe is me). I also took to baking a lot - trying the Marian Keyes, "it it's broke, feck it in the oven and bake the hoop out of it" approach.
And I made soup - a LOT of soup - all Slimming World friendly and exceptionally time consuming it was too. When I say I made soup, I mean from scratch. In a big heavy bottomed pot with loads of fresh veg and stock and not a single tin opener.
It was lovely soup, I have to say. Really healthy and nutritious but as I stood sweating onions and blending tomatoes and crushing garlic I thought of the perfectly lovely tinned soup in the cupboard which I could open and heat in three minutes and wondered - really, did I have to make my own soup? I firmly believe the baking and the soup making started to serve as a welcome distraction from the book writing, which then made me more anxious....a vicious cycle of buns and Leek and Potato soup and book guilt ensued.

Oh yes, anxiety. It came back - in waves of horrible adrenalin coursing through my body, starting at the top of head and rushing downwards hitting every nerve on the way making me feel nauseous to the point that yes, I started being physically sick. (Which was nothing to do with the soup or the buns, before anyone gets smart). I started doing the crying thing too - as I did the last time "the darkness" took hold which meant when I wasn't snapping at people I was bursting into tears.
And the dark thoughts returned as well. The thing about the dark thoughts, and the crying and the adrenalin is that you don't know how long it will stay for. Will be a day or two of feeling crappy and scared, or more? How dark will the thoughts get? How scary will it be? How will you be able to cope? Do you want to cope any more?
I am aware this is essentially a light hearted author page/ blog and I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about how bad things got, but they have - mostly - passed. I still am taking medication for panic attacks. I have to be religious about taking my anti-depressants. Not taking them does not end well. I have to keep making the soup and eating well and trying to get some fresh air. And I cut out a little picture from my Slimming World magazine which says "You Can Do It" and I put it in my purse and look at it often.
People say maybe I should remind myself there are people worse off than me - and while that is a relatively good technique - too much time thinking about people who are worse off than me leads me to feel really doubly guilty and very anxious about the state of the world and wondering when the bad things which have happened to them will happen to me. So really, for someone as neurotic as I am it might not be a good move afterall.
I'm lucky I know though that I have had friends and family who have helped me through. Who have been there (and sometimes just being there is enough), who have listened and who haven't said "Pull yourself together". That means a lot.

Now, the other thing which February brought was the experience of me having a smear test with a toddler in the room. (This was not a planned occurence, in case you wondered). Simple tip for anyone going for a dreaded smear (which you MUST MUST have because fandangos are precious commodities) is bring an inquisitive toddler with you. You will be so concerned wondering if she will say, do or see something inappropriate that the actual act of getting your hoo-haa out for a relative stranger will be much less daunting. My own version of toddler came out with a cracker. She stayed head end, chatting to me but did ask the doctor what was "up there" as she delved around in my region.
As I had (very badly - slapped wrist to me) put off my smear test for a year I was TERRIFIED waiting for the result (which probably contributed to the 'bad' days) - but thankfully I got an all clear. I have vowed not to put them off ever again - although by the time I'm next due one I won't have a toddler to make it more bearable any more and I don't see anyone offering me a loan of one of theirs... Note to self: Must find a different coping strategy for 2015.


In writing news I FINISHED THE BOOK. I cried (happy tears thankfully) when I finished it, looked at it for a long time and felt as I had been on a mammoth journey. The book, called What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?, is the most out and out love story I've ever written - except that of course it's a couple of love stories, with very many spanners thrown in the works, and broken hearts akimbo and all. It really touched me in a way none of my other books have and made me tap into my own feelings about love and marriage - how tough it can be, how good it can be, how sometimes love isn't enough and (to quote a cheesy song) how sometimes all you need is love. It's set between a magazine office (the same one from Rainy Days and Tuesdays) and a wedding dress shop called The White Room, which I actually really want to own and run.
It is now with my publishers and agent and please God, it will be out before the end of the year.

And finally, my brother made a YouTube ad for me - on the theme If Only You Knew about Claire Allan.



We maybe should have put a disclaimer on the end (You know, the Irish one...not the other one who writes very serious books and appears in The Guardian and the like...).



Enjoy.

January - and time to update the blog



Have you seen the girl who used to write the blog?
Me, second row, second from left singing with
Encore.



Marian has inspired me again. La Keyes has posted an updated newsletter on her website and it made me think of this sad neglected little website - where the blogs have been less than plentiful of late.

 I admit, hands up, I've been taking a kind of head-in-the-sand approach to blogging. Life in the last year has become so insanely, very busy that not everything is getting done.

But reading Marian's update I thought, well, I'll try and at least once a month update what is going in in my life.

First of all - writing. Well, If Only You Knew managed to sell quite well and garner quite a few positive reviews. This made me very happy indeed as it was the toughest writing experience of my life. It did get one spectacularly hilariously bad review in the form of an anonymous letter from a reader who was aghast at my use of "bad words". "Who wants to read about that 'fecking' and virginity losing?" she asked.

I can confirm to you dear reader than no virgins were harmed at all in the course of the book - and the fecking was fairly mild. Swear to God. I'm a good girl really.

That aside, Feels Like Maybe came out in Norway, which was very strange and also wonderful. No anonymous Norwegian letters have arrived with me - yet.
With If Only You Knew out of the way I started work in earnest on my sixth book, which will be known as 'What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?' and tells the story of Erin and Kitty - two women whose lives intertwine through Kitty's bridal shop 'The White Room'. Erin is planning her wedding to Paddy, who is battling testicular cancer. Kitty is dealing with the unexpected disappearance of her husband Mark. I promise lots of heartache, tears, laughter and a wee bit of fecking (see above) - but it will be done in the best possible taste.

Outside of writing - well my children continue to grow, as children do. The boy will be 8 at the end of this week. The girl will be three in March. This FREAKS ME OUT. But both, bar a recent dose of tonsilitis, are happy and healthy which is something I am very thankful for. The boy is obsessed with football. The girl is obsessed with me - as in totally, limpet like, stuck to me like glue obsessed. Which would be very endearing and lovely if I never had to do anything but sit and play with her. Even toilet trips are accompanied. And we'll not even mention her accompanying me to a certain kind of examination ladies get every three to five years. Let's just say the words "What's up there, mummy?" will stay with me forever.

Writing with two children, especially the limpet, is no easy task - but they do give me some of my best material. And they do give great hugs.

As for myself - I'm still a proverbial wreck. My depression has been back - it's still lingers but I'm taking tablets and taking steps to make myself feel better. I know I'm forever going on about being on diet - and yes, I've started again. And it's working, for now, and with God's help it will keep working and I'll start to feel better physically as well as emotionally. Winter, I find, it always a tough time mood wise. So the glimmer of light I spotted when leaving work on Friday at 5pm was very welcomed indeed.

My other big saviour has been singing, with my choir Encore, each Thursday night. The craic has been fierce and we've managed to sound good. Just before Christmas we played a sell out concert at Derry's Waterside Theatre - which was daunting, exhilerating and wonderful.

We had a recent bus trip to Dublin to see Sister Act and we sang and laughed the whole way there and back like a big pack of eejits - and it was the most fun I'd ever had on a bus. (The show was good too).

2012 has a lot in store. I'm getting a new niece or nephew in July. The boy is making his First Holy Communion in May. 'What Becomes of the Broken Hearted' will hit the shops in late August. Who knows what else we'll experience - but please God it will be more good than bad.

Random Conversations with the Boy... the virgin diaries..

The boy and I were singing Christmas songs in the car in preparation for his Nativity play. (He is playing Joseph again... am a very proud mummy indeed).


Anyway, the boy told me he didn't know 'Silent Night' so I launched into a (stunning) rendition ... and reached that line which has no doubt made parents cringe for generations....



"Round yon virgin...."



"What's a virgin mammy?" he asked.

My mind screamed "think of something... think of something... think of something" before I piped up "Someone who is pure and holy".

He nodded, taking on board this information.

"Well in that case *insert name of school friend* is definitely a virgin. He's light a candle at our Mass on Monday and that's a very virgin thing to do. I'm going to tell him he's a virgin first thing...."



Oh feck...

Random Conversations with the Girl

A few years back there was the famous conversation with the boy which warned me about my behaviour in the car. As we drove over a speed bump the then two year old piped up with "That's a f*cksake bump, isn't it mummy?"
Needless to say my language improved.
On Sunday I was in the car with my parents and the girl (now 2 and 9 months) and my father, who was driving, drove off onto what can be a bit of a treacherous junction due to road works. This is a junction we pass every day and where, quite frequently, some sneaky fecker will zoom in front of you and cause a near accident.
I thought I handled said junction quite calmly normally until the girl piped up to her grandad, a little enraged "You forgot to beep the horn, Grandad".

At least it wasn't swearing.

The angel of doom has visited me...

I'm quite a fan of psychics and I tend to love to have my angel cards read. I believe the angels (and yes I do believe in angels very much) can bring you no harm and every reading I have had has been very life affirming and comforting.
Until I had a reading on Friday night, with a local woman who shall remain nameless. I arrived expecting, well, I don't know, some comfort, some reassurance, some promise that I will continue to beat this depression, that my career is going in the right path, that my son - currently bumping through the shitty sevens will not turn into a reprobate. What I got was this... and I'm paraphrasing here - partly for comedy purposes and partly because she talked a whole lot and it would be impossible for me to tell you it all.

Anyway:
Angel lady: *mumble mumble* angels *mumbles about timelines* angels... more about angels.
Me: *confused, wondering if she has started yet*
Angel lady: *turns over card- sucks in breath, turns over another card, sucks in another breath* then  proceeds to tell me that

• My mother is getting ready to "cross over" to the other side. But not to worry because all her loved ones would be there, so sure wasn't that just clas
• Oh my maternal grandmother - yep, she's ready to leap that big divide too - but probably after my mother, or maybe before...
• My paternal grandmother (the one who is actually quite ill) well, she's a goner too - but to put it in perspective (and she said this with a smile) "You'll be surprised who goes first".
• And finally, for her parting shot, a man close to me has cancer. He's not been diagnosed yet. But it's there. So ner, ner de ner. *

I wasn't feeling the angel love to be fair. And while I'm not one to mock anyone's beliefs the fact that she then launched into a whole speech about how Jesus visited her bedroom and, then, my (possibly... we didn't discuss it) heavy periods were directly related to Padre Pio's stigmata and well.... it's fair to say I was disturbed.

But as much as I  could not take this woman seriously, when my mother as rushed to hospital in an ambulance on Sunday, I couldn't help but wonder if scary angel lady knew her stuff.

Thankfully, after surgery, my mother seems to be on the mend but the worry... well, that will take a while to get over.

I'm still convinced scary angel lady was full of toot - and that makes me angry. Because if you don't genuinely have a gift... why speak to people? Why scare people? Why make random statements which lead a person to live in fear?

Random conversations with the boy - Christmas is coming

Joseph: Do you think Santa's list has a relegation zone? You know for when you are good, but know you could try harder?