Monday, January 22, 2007

Just like Camille...

My beloved fashionistas

I have a bad head cold. I am blaming this squarely on majorly cutting back on my nicotine consumption. Yes, I smoke and actually it's not as big and clever as I used to think it was. Also really expensive. Don't start, OK?

Anyway, I'm a bit sinus-y and headache-y and very snotty and I feel sorry for myself but I kinda like having colds; they're quite comforting maladies I always find because:

1. I like my sexy, croaky phlegm voice.
2. I go really pale.
3. It doesn't matter if I don't have my usual three showers a day as I can't smell myself if I am starting to hum.
4. I lose my sense of taste (that happened at about 2.30 yesterday afternoon), which means I lose my appetite which cancels out not being able to go to the gym.
5. I like the challenge of chic comfort dressing. Today I'm wearing a long-sleeved thermal vest under a black and white polka dot sundress with a bright red cardiegan, thick black tights and Uggs. Plus my skinny scarf (that looks like it could have come from Sonia Rykiel) wrapped around my neck. Though I am resisting the urge to climb back into my modal sleepwear.
6. I sleep a lot when I have a cold. Instead of five to six fitful hours of slumber, I get between eight and nine. This is why I buy the only cold caplets I can find that have no caffiene in them - this is harder than you might think.
7. Plus, I make a concerted effort to go to bed with two furry hot water bottles; one for my feet and one for my chest.
8. It would also be a good excuse not to do any work but I have a frighteningly over-developed work ethic. Luckily reading Nancy Mitford's biography of Madame de Pompadour counts as work, if you're me. Our Nance knows how to write a biography. It's gossipy, trivial and I get the feeling that historical accuracy was not her main priority, which suits me just fine.

Having been all glass half-full, I should point out that I also feel like a raw-faced zombie.

And I should also point out that I added some software to this blog so I could reply directly to comments posted and it's wiped all the comments instead! All of them! Every single one! And I still can't reply to individual comments but such is the price of progress.

Finally, though I can take or leave their music, I currently have a massive crush on the lead singer of The Feeling. Oooh, he's so stern-looking and whippet-like.

Tell me who YOU have a massive crush on? It will take my mind off the huge pile of soggy tissues I'm collecting...

Live on

Sarra x

Monday, January 15, 2007

All change!

Waving, not drowning...

Why yes, there is a shiny, new look to this blog with many added features. For good reason.

I've been absolutely swamped with emails and comments and MySpace messages over the last few weeks. I love, love, love hearing from you. I do. And I appreciate that you pour your hearts out and that my books mean a lot to you. It makes me feel very humble and honoured.

But the amount of things hitting my in-box has reached critical mass. I'm up to my elbows in my new series, but I'm also a jobbing journalist with freelance articles to write to keep the mortgage paid! This adds up to not a huge amount of time.

There's also the very thorny topic that I get asked the same three questions over and over and over again.

1. Please, please, please write more Diary Of A Crush/Guitar Girl/Let's Get Lost books.

2. I'm doing a book report and need some vague information on you that I haven't bothered to google.

3. Can I have some writing tips?

I have answered these questions many, many times on this blog. Many times. But I realise it can be very hard to trawl through the archives if you don't know what you're looking for. So, at first I considered just writing a FAQ and giving up the blogging, or else I would just be replying to the same questions all the time.

But I didn't want to do that. I like blogging. And I like blogging to you and reading your comments and finding out about what's going on in your life. I don't get time to reply to everyone but I read them all. I can't stress that enough.

So, I decided to use the new features at blogspot to hopefully make everyone happy. As well as a new layout, I've spent two whole days of my life going back and labelling all of my entries. You can see the labels to the left of you. Now, to find out why there are no more Diary Of A Crush books you can simply click on the labels: Diary Of A Crush or NO MORE SEQUELS and all will be explained.

I've also added a links list (also on the left, though you may have to scroll down to find it) with lots of me on the interpipe, from interviews to podcasts to my publishers' micro-sites. There's also a whole ton of other links for my favourite bands, magazines and people.

I've decided to stop cross-posting to my blog at MySpace. I'm still on MySpace and always happy to add new friends and read (and even reply occasionally!) to messages there. But the blogspot template with the labelling and whatnot makes it more pratical to just blog here.

I hope that these nifty little things will help you find what you're looking for and it will make it easier for me to direct people to the right place. Though if I get one more email about a fourth Diary Of A Crush book, my brain may just leak out of my nostrils.

I guess the one thing I hate about blogspot is that there's no option so I can reply to specific comments. I either have to add a comment to my own post or try to pick up your questions on the next blog posting.

Anyway, there's lots here for you to take in. But, I'm still here. I'll still be posting all sorts of lists of stuff I'm into and a whole other bunch of rambly crap and book news, excerpts and gossip. I'm not going anywhere and please don't you either! I would be interested to know what you think of the new look blog and if you have any other tips or ideas of things I can do to make your blogging experience better.

Much love

Sarra x

Monday, January 01, 2007

Inaugural 2007 post

Happy New Year!

I crawled out of bed at noon today after a very late night. I had a little party where I stuffed my guests full of an ungodly amount of food. Then we walked up to Ally Pally (the second highest point in London) for midnight and watched all the fireworks across the city as we drank champagne. Then back to my place for more Cava and pomegranate juice cocktails – because I am old enough to drink alcohol! Anyway, I hope that however you celebrated New Year's Eve, you had a good time and that 2007 brings you everything you want from health and happiness too foxy boys and styling frocks.

As promised this is an excerpt from Let's Get Lost that didn't make it into the final version.

And Rob really had been the best of a truly bad bunch. At least he'd hit puberty. We'd drunk these two super-sized bottles of cider quickly enough to qualify for the world record before Rob had dragged me off in the direction of the hut behind the Crown Bowling Green. He'd fancied himself quite the raconteur and regaled me with all these stories about how he could break into a car in five seconds and steal the stereo and the sub woofers, whatever the hell they were, before anyone realised. He was quite the charming conversationalist.

"People are real twats," he'd sniffed. "Most of the time they leave the doors unlocked."

"You don't say."

"Yeah. I've never really talked to a posh bird before."

I arched one of my eyebrows. "And how's it working out for you?"

"Dunno," he'd said, after a minute's thought. "So you gonna let me feel you up then?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I'd caught a flash of pink and I knew Nancy was in the vicinity already to report back. "C'mon, then," I'd sighed. "You can kiss me if you like."

After Rob had thoroughly rinsed my mouth out with his tongue for a good few minutes while I carefully manoeuvred him out of the line of fire, I'd had enough. Then he'd mauled my tits like he was trying to tune in one of those purloined car stereos and I'd had more than I could stand.

I'd gently extricated myself from his octopus-like embrace and firmly removed the paw that was clamped around my left buttock.

"What did you do that for?" Rob had asked, trying to worm his leg between mine while I thrust my head back to evade any more spit.

"Don't get me wrong, this has been real and stuff but I have to go," I'd said very pleasantly given the extreme mauling I'd just suffered. "Maybe I'll see you around."

He'd reached for me again as I'd adroitly side-stepped out of the path of his questing hands. "You're tight, you know that," he'd told me furiously.

"Gosh, thanks awfully for enlightening me." He didn't seem to be getting the message that I'd rather have my skin removed from my body with a rusty potato peeler than kiss him again. He'd kept lurching towards me with his lips puckered and Jesus, those hands… They should have had a government health warning tattooed across the knuckles.

"You know you want to," he'd cajoled, grabbing my wrists and it's so annoying that even the weediest boy can overpower me. But even weedy boys don't have nails as sharp as mine or know how to use them.

He gave a girly squeak when I dug them into the back of his hands and finally let me go. "Sorry about that," I'd chirped. "Did I mention that I was a Mormon?"

And then I turned and ran while he was still scrolling through the empty files where his brain should be to understand what I was saying.