There’s an element on which I fixate, to a point of obsession, whilst writing a book: names. Specially character names, rather than business, street or nicknames. Every name mentioned in my 14 published books has been carefully chosen after much thought, detailed research and consideration for its origin or meaning. The significance for me is huge - I can’t pretend it isn’t. See, I told you - obsessional! 
 
Firstly, I have a list of barred names that I will never use, under any circumstance, as they relate to those I wouldn’t wish to label with a plot-line or conflict arc. Likewise, I have a list of deceased relatives to whom I have freely assigned characters as I want them to partake in my writing journey such as Flora, Dotty, Francis, George and Terry. Likewise with surnames, I have included many which are linked to departed loved ones, dear friends and people of significance within my world. I suppose what I’m highlighting is that no one is mentioned purely by chance!
 
For instance, there’s a huge difference between a Elizabeth, Betsy, Lizzie or Beth … or a Julian, Jules or Jud. I can literally imagine seven very different characters linked to the above names. Their name has to fit perfectly with the characters’ individual traits, age, personality or role within my fictional world. So, a Jennifer just won’t cut it when my imagination demands a Jen.    
 
It’s not unusual to hear me cry, ‘Oh, what a beautiful name! Where does that come from?’ Having previously been a teacher in a secondary school, guess who loved seeing her new academic registers for the first time.
 
I intend to use my complete naming list during my writing career, collected from various sources as I travel through daily life: grave yards, film credits, overheard conversations and real-life introductions. I add to the list on a regular basis and tick-off once used. With the exception of ‘Nina’ who I have repeatedly used but have now retired – even I didn’t know I had a calling towards Nina.
 
My stance is nothing new - way back in 1596, Shakespeare had Juliet pondered the significance of this very subject:
 
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot,                    
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? That which we call a rose,
By any other word would smell as sweet.
 
Hopefully, my ponderings foreshadow slightly less drama and death! 

As you know, in recent weeks, my writing routine has changed. I’m no longer at home for the entire week so I’ve drafted a new writing timetable and have surprised myself in the meantime.

I’d forgotten how beautiful it is writing late at night, when the world is peacefully sleeping and tranquillity descends. Hearing the church clock strike, as if counting my hours, while I’m squirreling away at a keyboard. It has brought back fond memories of my early writing years, before being published, when I’d spend most evenings in front of my bulky computer, circa 1994 declining all social invites, chasing a dream and harbouring a desire for ‘just one more hour’.

Times have changed, but my sense of joy at being able to write never has. Yes, I’ve been tired in recent days - I can’t deny that. I’m yet to settle into a true 'week on week' timetable, but it is slowly getting there. I’m hoping by the end of next week I will have fine-tuned my new writing routine enabling me spare time for a few neglected hobbies. 

​The church clock has just struck eight, so I’ve grabbed a hot drink and have my aged-dog for company ... and I’m about to settle to an evening tapping a keyboard. At nine o’clock, I’ll join London Writers’ salon in New Zealand for the final Zoom meeting of the day. I’m a lucky, lucky gal! 

Three years ago, having been on medication for a few weeks due to my P.E. condition, I reported back to the hospital team that it was affecting my speech. My ability to provide a fluid reply had gone – basically, I had a time delay between thought and verbal speech. 

On this date in 2022, I remember having a conversation which I struggled through as I couldn’t maintain a normal level of speech. My embarrassment was all-consuming. It might not seem like a hinderance as each pause was literally a few heart beats but in a world where quick-fire questions are asked of you every hour of the day - this side-effect felt like an utter nightmare. 

I’ll give you a scenario: you enter a shop, queue to pay for your basket of goods. At the counter, the shop assistant says ‘Good morning’. My normal reaction is an instant reply, but not the newly medicated me. In the time it took me to answer, the shop assistant thinks I’ve ignored their greeting. Instantly, I’d receive a hard stare, a not-so-subtle head shake or be labelled rude – after which my words are finally uttered. Nowadays, a quick succession of questions follow most daily interactions: Have you got a loyalty card? Do you need a bag? Would you be interested in donating towards …? After each question, my poor brain had to process the answer, consciously aware of the momentary pause and then literally spit out the words. I quickly learnt which shops I couldn’t enter, as some staff hadn’t the patience to serve me. And I hadn't the strength to endure their reactions.

I’d never previously experienced a speech problem. Thankfully, I understood the basics of what was happening within my brain but it didn’t make it any easier to handle. Other people, total strangers, regularly showed their irritation, spoke over me, finished my sentences or didn’t allow me the time to answer. The worse cases were those who continually repeated the same question forcing my speech to develop into a stutter because they kept interrupting my brain’s pathways, which were all firing and attempting to process the previous three times they’d asked the same damned question. It goes without saying the more I panicked, became embarrassed or tried to quicken my speech the worse it became. Nightmare!

The worst moment was when a young shop assistant asked ‘Do. You. Understand. Me?’ in a slow drawn-out tone as if speaking to … well, I don’t know what she thought she was speaking to. I burst out crying on leaving that supermarket.

There were funny moments - I enjoy TV quizzes so during this time, try as hard as I might, I constantly answered after the on-screen contestants, providing an echo answer and much hilarity when I was clearly wrong! 

I had to endure ten weeks of this speech impediment and I don’t mind admitting, it took its toll on me. Thankfully, my speech processing returned to normal once I was taken off the medication, but I hope I never forget how it feels not to be able to communicate in a world that demands an instant reply.​

I can’t pretend that recent events haven’t left me feeling under the weather and melancholy. The atmosphere has changed within my home, the dog is searching for his little buddy, when he isn’t super-glued to my side. I keep expecting Moses to walk through the door at any minute, demanding more food. I know such feelings will pass but while you’re going through it, you’re going through it! 

In such times, you only need certain people – only want certain people, those who truly know how to put a smile on your face. Thankfully, I have those. My dear friend, Samantha sent me a beautiful bouquet of flowers which made me cry, has brightened my lounge and made me smile whilst watching them bloom. Another friend, Charlotte knows me so well she gifted me a short-crust pork pie! Yes, you read that correctly … a pork pie. Which definitely made me smile and brought a tear to my eye. It tasted bloody gorgeous too! Though I haven’t eaten it all, yet.

I write about love – its troubles, the faults and the end results. And I’m touched to be reminded that love comes in many different sizes and forms – be it cat-shaped, dog-shaped, via beautiful flowers and even pork-pie shaped! ​