For years and years I would place whatever I had to hand between the most recently read pages of my book, reluctant to do anything to damage it. I love my books; I define myself by my books and have bookcases in almost every room of the house, each one full to brimming, as well as a Kindle stuffed with titles yet to read. Why would I want to vandalise something which means so much to me?

Then I started to share books with my daughter.

While she was always respectful of my books, when I borrowed one of hers it was dog-eared, spine-concertinaed and the pages annotated by her thoughts on the text. The book was totally and irrevocably Claire’s and I loved it. Reading a book after her was almost like reading it alongside her. And it got me thinking.

Why was I so keen to preserve my books in a way that made them look unread? Surely if the words had an effect on me, stayed with me, changed me even, it was justifiable for me to leave my mark on the pages? In fact, not only is it justifiable, shouldn’t it be expected?

I have taken a page out of Claire’s book (yeah, it’s a pun, deal with it) and now underline or comment on the words I read if they evoke an emotion from me, and you can follow my journey through each book by the corners I turned down to mark the places where I stopped to rest and take in the scenery before moving on another day. Granted, it’s a bit harder to do this in an ebook, but I can ‘bookmark’ each place I stop and highlight text as I go along.

If I am loaned a book I wouldn’t presume to leave my mark on it. It would be bookmarked using a piece of card or old envelope But I’d like my books to show their life, wrinkles and all.

Like most anthologies, not every story is going to appeal to every reader. There were some I didn’t particularly care for, but I have to say that these were in the minority. There is a real skill to writing such short pieces of prose and leaving the reader satisfied and almost every writer here achieved that perfectly. I loved Kissing Frankenstein, a beautiful tale of memory and a scandalous past, and Polishing The Air, a fabulous tale about making our lives shiny. My two favourites in the collection are Almost by Martha Williams and Lop by Rachel Carter. Each story consists of only one sentence, but that sentence says more than many writers would take many thousands of words to say.

If you haven’t given flash fiction much thought before, Kissing Frankenstein & Other Stories is a great place to begin.

The author, Mark Clark, provides in one volume more information that you ever thought possible to exist on this perennial Sci Fi favourite..

The book is divided into 6 main themes, the first of which looks at the pre-history of Star Trek. Here we find out about the show’s creator, Gene Roddenberry, and the journey he took in realising his dream. Clark also explores what the cast did before Star Trek made them household names.

He then looks at behind the scenes incidents which influenced the show and goes on to examine in wonderful detail the mythology and universe of Star Trek. The author clearly knows his stuff and he conveys his enthusiasm for his subject with great skill. He examines the philosophy of the show and the commentary it made on society of the late 1960s as well as discussing the legacy of Gene Rodenberry’s work.

Would you like this if you weren’t a Trekker? Maybe not, but if you have more than a passing interest in Captain Kirk, Mister Spock, Bones, et al, you could do much worse than invest in this brilliant book.

Before I could drive or had a car of my own, I relied on public transport. There were many things I liked about taking the bus everywhere. I could have a glass of wine with lunch and not have to worry about driving home; I could spend the journey listening to music or day-dreaming about my current crush; I could enjoy listening into the conversations of my fellow passengers and imagine where they were going to or what jobs they might have. But the one thing I disliked most about the bus, the thing that brought forth my inner Hulk like nothing else, was smelly people.
I was a magnet for the odourly challenged.
I’m not talking about an over-generous squirt of perfume or the whiff a homeward-bound armpit. No, the smell that assaults my olfactory organ with distressing regularity is that of The Great Unwashed. The GU smell of old pee, sweat and halitosis with top notes of your granny’s knickers and stale whisky. Utterly revolting.
You can bet that no matter how empty the bus was, a member of the GU would pick me to sit beside.
It’s the same in cafes, the library, shops…Wherever there are members of the public, you guarantee that a GU will seek me out and invade my personal space.
I once complained to Tesco about the odour emanating from the middle-aged man who used to work in their bread aisle. They made me fill out a Customer Complaint Form in order to ask them to have a quiet word about their store assistant’s personal hygiene. Talk about overkill! But I’ll never say that Tesco don’t listen to customer complaints: they moved him to the wine aisle.
Now I work in a shop myself, I find I am still at the mercy of the pungent public. All too often I am faced with a GU who wants me to show them where the latest Jason Statham film is or help them browse through the £3 bin for Angels and Demons. And I have to keep a smile on my face, regardless of how bad the reek is.
I can understand how some people become so noisome. If you are depressed and living alone, it can seem that there is no point to washing and caring for oneself and for these poor souls I have nothing but sympathy. I also understand how ‘care’ in the community has let so many vulnerable men and women down and I am not criticising them. But how is it that a woman, holding down a job and with money enough to rent £14 worth of DVDs, can go about her life with her kids so blissfully unaware of how rank she smells? And why is it that she picks ME to serve her instead of my colleague?
Perhaps if I cut down on my own personal hygiene routine I’d become less attractive to the funky few who make my life a misery? Hmm. I think I’ll just keep smiling at the GU and breathing through my mouth.
Chanel Number 5 anyone?

He despised the plastic packaging on the fruit and veg in the supermarket, and knew that the contents would wither, shrivel and turn into maggot-infested goo long before the wrapper began its long, difficult decomposition. He would remove the cellophane and polystyrene from every purchase before putting the produce in his unbleached cotton tote. ‘If you want to use this unnecessary and wasteful packaging,’ he would preach to the manager, ‘you can deal with the consequences.’ His wife refused to go to the supermarket with him anymore.

Kevin disliked dripping taps and the constant plot plop plop of wasted resources flowing down the porcelain and into the drains instead of down the throats of thirsty African children. He raged about his wife flushing sanitary items down the loo where they would wend their way through the sewers to the water treatment plant, only to be scooped and dumped onto a conveyor belt littered with condoms, baby wipes and cotton buds. Kevin’s wife moved into the spare room.

Kevin hated seeing appliances not being used still plugged in and would patrol his house, yanking out the wires of sleeping TVs and hairdryers. But most of all, Kevin hated an empty socket with the switch in the ‘on’ position. He imagined the electricity flowing out from the open outlet, snaking around the house and infiltrating the fibres of the tomatoes growing on the kitchen windowsill, the herbs in the bathroom and the webs of the many spiders patrolling the corners of every room. That’s why he swapped his hand-knitted tammy for a tin foil cap whenever he went into a neighbour’s house. Of course, it was made from recycled foil. His neighbours’ BBQs became family only affairs and Kevin and his wife were never included again.

He recycled and reused almost everything. He bought his clothes from Oxfam and got his furniture from skips. When he brought home an upholstered pouf, sodden in cat pee and jumping with fleas that he found in a container outside a social-security doss house, his wife left him and moved in with a car salesman named Jonathan who bought her Chanel and grapes wrapped in plastic.

At least, thought Kevin, he was a used car salesman.

Firstly, I came third in the FlashBang Fiction Competition and you can read my prize winning story, ‘The Magician’, here.

Secondly, I have a job. Yes, I am now employed on a part time basis with Blockbuster and I LOVE it! I work with a great team and my boss is lovely and I get to enthuse about films. It would only be better if I were to work for Waterstones or an independent book seller (of which there are none in my area).

Thirdly, doesn’t Nick Knowles look like Sid James?

*I had to check on twitter whether it was ‘bear’ or ‘bare’ (I have my stupid head on today) and I got this reply from Karen Wilde aka @wildelycreative. “I’d suppose it depends on mood-lighting and Luther Vandross….…”

Mum: That’s nice. What is it?

Me: A queen.

Mum: A queen? (she picks it up) A QUEEN?

Me: Yes, mum, it’s a chess piece.

Mum: Oh, right. What do you do with it? It’s a bit big to play with.

Me: It’s just for decoration.

Mum: That’s lovely. What’s this?

Me: It’s a king.

Mum: ….

Me: Just an ornament.

Mum: That’s lovely. I need deoderant.

Me: Fine, what kind do you want.

Mum: Och, the kind I like.

Me: Which is…?

Mum: I don’t know. I’ll recognise it when I see it.

Me: Can you make out what’s on the shelves there?

Mum: No, no really.

Me: (grabbing one from shelf) Try this one. You liked it before.

Mum: Did I?

Me: Yes. (crosses fingers behind back)

Alison Hill takes us through the whole process from writing your synopses, constructing a strong online presence and targeting the right media outlet for your work. Ms. Hill provides checklists and makes suggestions for the types of questions you should be asking yourself before you make your pitch – another of the topics covered – to media personnel.

What makes this book stand out is its interactive nature. There are many ‘blank’ pages for the writer to fill as he or she works through the topics. When you get to the end of the workbook, you cannot help but feel more in control and ready to tackle the promotional activity required from the modern writer.

I’d recommend this book for all writers, whether they are published traditionally or are taking the new indie route.

You can buy Media Ready, Media Savvy from Amazon.

I am juggling far too many projects at one time but have chosen my kid’s novel to post from. So, here are my lines from Jimmy Gingerbeard, a Glaswegian pirate and nanny par excellence!

His mum would go mental if she saw the mess Jimmy was making in her kitchen. He began picking up the cans and lined them up on the counter.

“You can’t go around making this sort of mess. Mum would go crazy if she saw you throw all this food on the floor,” Billy scolded Jimmy.

“Aarrr, you has to make a bit of mess when you’re cooking. Haven’t you heard the saying? You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs. Ooh, eggs!” Jimmy headed back to the fridge to see if he could find some. He took out a new box of six eggs, removing two before throwing the rest over his shoulder as he headed for the frying pan.

Oh dear! What will Billy do? Jimmy is making rather a mess of Billy’s mum’s pristine kitchen, isn’t he?

Now, for the seven other writers I want to tag in the game.

@sarahcallejo

@JoannaCannon

@elpis_bites

@mruku

@akjames61

@PhilipCJames

@Mariam_Kobras

And thanks again to Susan for giving me the opportunity to join in with the fun!