A day in the life of…Book blogger Joanne Robertson

 

Getting to know book bloggers have been one of the highlights of being published. To meet like-minded people with a passion for stories is a dream come true. Today I’m SO excited to welcome Joanne Robertson whose own blog, My Chestnut Reading Tree is one of my favourites. How do you fit in all the reading you do, Joanne?

I’m an early riser but not by choice! The Grumpy Scotsman always kisses me goodbye when he leaves for work at 0530 bringing me a cup of tea in bed (weak, black and no sugar!) so then I’m awake and straight away I’m on social media sites! I check Facebook, Twitter and Instagram and then I’m straight into WordPress sharing any posts that my fellow bloggers have posted since the previous evening. Then by 7 I’m up to get showered and ready for the day ahead. By 7.30 I’m waiting for the grandchildren to arrive. It depends which day of the week it is as to how many I’m looking after but I look after all 4 of them while their mummies (my 3 gorgeous daughters!) go to work. They range from 6 years to 10 months and I absolutely adore every single one of them! So after cuddles I then give them breakfast before depositing them at school/nursery then back home for 9.

Most mornings I’m free to do some work on my blog (Baby tv and naps for the 10 month old if I have her for a couple of hours!) I blog most days and my posts go live around 8 each morning. So once home I will then share that post in a multitude of FB groups, catch up on Twitter and do another WordPress sharing session. Then I check my emails and this can take a while as I respond to review and blog tour requests that have come in since the day before. I check publication dates and pop reviews on Amazon etc and share reviews again of any books out that day.I am obsessed with my blog and love raving about the many brilliant books I get sent to read and review. I’ve always loved reading so I’m so ecstatic to have finally found my niche in life. Since starting to blog 18 months ago I’ve achieved over 6,000 followers across my sites plus I’m an Amazon top 500 reviewer and Goodreads top 100 reviewer so I work hard to maintain those!

At 12 I’m childfree so I go off to work. Although I’m not really childfree, as I work at my local primary school as a “midday assistant” which I absolutely love! By half 1 I’m home again and have a quick lunch. If I’m childfree I will do either work on my eBay business selling preloved children’s clothing, do some housework or I will read for an hour or so. If I have my grandson then he needs a nap so it’s into the pushchair for him, dog on lead, audio book on my iPhone and we go for a lovely long walk. I live in a gorgeous little village in Cheshire where everyone knows everyone so we often stop to chat to people! My postman arrives after lunch as well so if I have book post I take some pics for Instagram and make sure their publication dates are logged in my diary.

Then it’s school finishing time so everyone is back to Nana’s house for homework, playtime and tea until all the mummies come to collect them and I reach for a large G&T and some Twiglets!! Until recently we had one daughter and one grandchild living with us but now it’s back to just me and the Grumpy Scotsman again which is weird! He loves it but I miss the hustle and bustle of busy family life. After I cook us a meal, he’s off to walk the dog while I sit to write reviews and do another catch up on the social media side. The other wonderful thing about blogging is the friendships I have made and it’s in the evening that I like to catch up with those friends too. I’m not a huge tv watcher but I do like a good crime drama so I will watch if there’s one on with a cuppa (I’ve given up coffee this year due to palpitations!) and a Twirl! But by 10pm I’m ready for bed! Unfortunately my brain isn’t and I don’t sleep very well so normally this is when I do most of my reading. I read on my kindle at night so as not to disturb the Grumpy Scotsman who is snoring within 2 minutes of his head hitting the pillow. I have always been a fast reader and I can read a book a night, usually dropping off around 12 although I’m often awake till 2 in which case there’s a very cold cup of tea waiting for me the next morning when I

Family & books. I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy after reading this. Thanks so much, Joanne. You can find Joanne’s fabulous blog here and follow her on Twitter here

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A writer, a mum & the end of an era. What now?

 

Nineteen years.

That’s how long I’ve been doing the primary school run for.

Nineteen years ago my eldest son was in his first year of ‘little’ school and now my youngest son is finishing his final year. A full circle.

Nineteen years of spelling test practice, egg and spoon races, school discos, times tables pinned to the fridge, Christmas concerts with homemade costumes. Nineteen years of knowing all the kids in the school, calling the teachers by their first names, school trips, fun facts and endless questions about stuff they’ve learned over dinner. (Yesterday Finley watched a birth video and that was enough to put everyone off their lasagne).

It’s been an emotional week for me. The end of an era. Primary has been part of my life for almost half of my life and I’ve been building up to today’s leaving assembly with a mixture of denial and apprehension thinking ‘what now?’ My children are growing up, forging their place in the world and admittedly I’ve worried whether that place will still have room for me.

I’ve watched Finley’s two brothers transition into adulthood with a sense of amazement and awe. Knowing I’ve raised such well-rounded young men is a constant source of pride and wonder and I know it’s Finley’s time to gain some independence. Dip his toe into the world. It’s been hard not to feel anxious about him making this leap to ‘big’ school, unfairly assuming he must feel the same sense of creeping dread I do.

Today, I sat in the school hall that always smells of rubber and disinfectant for the last time. Cramped on one of the uncomfortable orange plastic chairs which are too big for kids and too small for adults, trying desperately to keep my emotions inside.

The children were called to the front one by one and presented with a book. Behind them a screen showed their image with two speech bubbles, one saying what they wanted to be when they grow up; the other saying who has most inspired them in the world. Finley’s photo flashed up and I leaned forward, straining to read the words that had come from his heart. “When I grow up I want to be an author of fictional stories.” The walls of my throat constricted as I swallowed hard. The next speech bubble stated “I am most inspired by my mum who is a brilliant bestselling author.” And this was my undoing. Tears streamed unchecked down my cheeks as I fumbled for tissues in my bag.

With a rush of relief I realised that Finley is excited for the future and it was only then I could look at today as a beginning rather than an end. Secure in the knowledge that whatever the next stage brings we will face it, as we always do. As a family. With love.

My first school visit – 250 kids – what could possibly go wrong?

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Last week I was writing when my phone flashed with an incoming call – my son’s primary school – and my heart stuttered as I thought of all the things that might be wrong.

‘Will you come into school on World Book Day and talk to the kids about writing? Just Years 5 & 6. Only around 250 children.’

Only?!? 250!?! I’ve never given a talk before and instantly I felt sick, dizzy, afraid. Options pin-balled around my mind. I could hang up, pretend they had the wrong number, put on an accent and say I can’t speak English. So many words formed on my tongue, but I thought about the amazing assemblies I’ve seen there over the years. How brave the children are to stand up in front of the school and act and sing, and of all of the words that formed on my tongue, the one that came out was yes. The children can’t all enjoy performing and yet they do it anyway. What sort of example would I set to my son if I didn’t at least try?

Yesterday, it was a different story. Riddled with doubt I spoke my lovely friend Victoria who told me to imagine I was speaking to one little girl. The little girl who loved to read. Loved to write. Who wanted nothing more than to be an author. The little girl I once was who had her dreams crushed when the career advisor said writing was neither a ‘proper or viable career choice.’ And a quiet determination grew inside. If in some small way I could inspire one child to follow their dreams it would be worth any amount of anxiety I might feel.

img_9444This morning I stood in front of a sea of expectant faces. I locked eyes with my son. He’d been so excited I was visiting and I wanted to make him proud, not faint/vomit/cry and so I ignored the notes I’d made and I spoke from the heart. I spoke of my passion for writing, my love for my characters, how I can’t imagine ever doing anything else. I spoke of my belief that we can all be who we want to be, if only we dare to dream and never stop trying.

I asked the children questions. They asked me questions. Some had written them down, complete with illustrations. Most loved to read, to write, to fabricate stories and many of them dream of being authors and seeing that raw hope, that ambition, that certainty, I am sure they can do anything they set their minds to.

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It was a real privilege meeting these children and I came away hopeful, and inspired, and itching to write. It was such an enriching experience. I learned a lot about them, but I also learned a lot about me. 

How? A Mother’s Tale.

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How can I love you more?

I gazed in wonder at your ten tiny fingers, your ten tiny toes and I knew that I was hopelessly, irrevocably lost.

How can I love you more?

Your first smile made my heart swell, your first illness sliced me to the core.

How can I love you more?

The memory of your first day at school etched forever on my mind as your tiny hand slipped from mine and you took the first faltering steps towards independence.

How can I love you more?

Standing tall, and proud on your first day at work, no longer a boy but a man.

How can I love you more?

It is incomprehensible that I could and yet with every second, every minute, every hour, I do.

 

This post was written for the Saturday Streams of Consciousness challenge hosted by Linda G. Hill. Write the first thing that comes to mind following a prompt and post. No editing allowed. This week’s prompt was ‘begin your post with how.’

Flash Fiction – Letting Go

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Image courtesy of Liz Young

 

I paint on the smile that won’t reach my eyes and smooth my dress as though that will suddenly make me lose 10lbs. Today I want to be sparkling. Beautiful. Brilliant.

The church is full. The bride is young, thin, radiant. As full of hope as I once was. I bite back tears. I won’t cry. I won’t.

You’re so handsome as you walk down the aisle. I try to catch your eye but I’m invisible to you now. But I’m still your mum and I cling to that thought as tightly as you once clung to my hand.

Be happy, my love.

 

‘Letting Go’ was written for Friday Fictioneers. A weekly 100 word story challenge, inspired by a photo prompt. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting – you can check out the other entries, or join in, here.

 

SoCS – Objects

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I was a teensy bit excited during a family day out at a museum yesterday, to discover there was an old toy room.

‘Ha.’ I cunningly thought, ‘I will take my children to see how the kids of yesteryear used to amuse themselves. They will be in awe that such pleasure could be found in a mere stick and ball and will come away grateful for their overflowing toy boxes’.

I envisaged hoops, a rocking horse and possibly a creepy faced china doll (the type my mum keeps in her wardrobe, too scared to look at it and yet reluctant to part with her childhood toy).

Umm no. Upon entering the room and briefly scanning the objects in their cases it became apparent that I was a child of yesteryear.

I had no idea I was old enough to have my childhood encased behind glass display cabinets but seeing these well loved toys instantly transported me back to endless summer days and Quality Street Christmases. A space-hopper, Sooty and Sweep glove puppets – I had Sweep, my sister (forever in charge) had Sooty, and a Girls World doll, were amongst my favourite things growing up.

 

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There was, admittedly, a little bit of sniggering and ‘what’s the point of that?’ but the point of old school, non singing, non dancing toys was to encourage imaginative play in a way that all the technology in today’s world can’t. I wonder what impact this may have on the potential writers of tomorrow when fabricating their fiction?

 

 

Written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Write the first things that comes into your head following the prompt and post without editing. This weeks prompt was ‘objects’.