We're back from Sicily: goodness, an island of such utter beauty; it leaves you weak-kneed, and as surprised as a child. England, on the other hand, was as stolid as a black umbrella on a soggy day. The plane landed through dark grey clouds, on a wet tarmac, into a damp chill - the usual suspects really, but home still. Never a bad thing.
I'm going to put together a post on our lazy-hazy-crazy days in the Sicilian sun, but before that I thought I'd share something else.
Some months ago, I terrified myself by writing my first short story. And then I wrote another. One of those stories was shortlisted for the Words And Women Competition, 2014. It's a story called Mrs. Sen. I'll be reading from it at the launch of the Words And Women Anthology next week.
You can read about it, and about the wonderfully gifted authors I'll be reading with, here:
If you have nothing better to do, and are anywhere near the event, do pop in and watch me walk into uncharted territory. In a different kind of weak-kneed.