“Like jazz on a summer’s day”

A year ago today – October 12, 2015 – my novelist uncle (and my godfather) died. Incredibly, my mother would follow her brother on October 26. It has not been a “good year.”

But my recent personal “trials” had actually begun a year and some earlier: on February 2, 2014. On that day we were told (while we were in America) that Kam, our friend of two decades, had died (in London) after several years of illness. Upon hearing the depressing news, I felt sadder and sicker than I had ever felt over a death before in my entire life. A few days later, I wrote about her here.

Naturally afterwards we others out here all have to live on, but being unexpectedly confronted with a reminder of a deceased loved one can be a harshly unpleasant and emotional moment that no one else quite comprehends. In this case, I was taken aback last weekend when I saw a late 2013 photo of her – only weeks before her death – in our Irish friends’ lounge. A little while ago, I ran it through the Prisma photo app, which in one format converted it into almost the otherworldly:

Prisma photo art app: "Tears". [Original photo, 2013.]
Prisma photo art app: “Tears”. [Original photo, 2013.]

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That 9:30 Lecture

The other day I mentioned that my niece – who’s 18 – has started university this week in Belfast. (She’s at Queen’s.) It’s her first extended time away from home without her parents around. I believe her previous “separation” record was when she was 15: she had flown with us – uncle and aunt – for two weeks in New York and in Florida, just us three.

Free Stock Photo: Illustration of a pencil and back to class text.
Free Stock Photo: Illustration of a pencil and back to class text.

If you are just starting out, university will seem unfamiliar and maybe at times intimidating. You are thrown back largely on yourself for perhaps the first time. Within days, though, trust me, it will all start to make sense.

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For 2016: Let’s Resolve To Listen And Learn

The Voice of America radio and web site is about the closest you will find to an “official” media voice of the government of the United States. I like to visit it regularly – just to see what my government is thinking publicly. (Now, now, let’s not be overly cynical about public v. private for a moment at least.) Today, it has this story about New Year’s Resolutions:

Screen capture of the VOA web site.
Screen capture of the VOA web site.

The world is still a huge, diverse place. We always have our differences. Political ones are perhaps the touchiest.

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Our Old School Chums

Today, this blog is in “Hala mania” hangover mode. If you missed the party, it was not something that happens here very often. Thanks to my interviewing Lebanese journalist Hala Feghaly on Monday, through yesterday I’d been inundated with new visitors, mostly from Lebanon.

Yes, yes, yes, I know they came by for her, so I presume most won’t be back longer-term. Although, you never know; one can but hope a few stick around. In any event, let’s return here today to what passes for “normal.”

Dawn breaking over our back garden in Wiltshire. [Photo by me, about 5:30 am this morning.]
Dawn breaking over our back garden in Wiltshire. [Photo by me, about 5:30 am this morning.]

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The Difference Between “Friends” And, Uh, “Friends”

I stumbled on two thoughtful recent Guardian pieces on internet friendships. They seemed worth sharing for a Saturday post. The first: “How do you tell who’s a real friend and who’s just a ‘Friend’ on the internet?”:

….Being eliminated from a friend’s life used to mean ignored phone calls and mutual, public recriminations to third parties; today, it’s as easy as untagging yourself from an ussie and clicking unfollow on Twitter. On the other side, you’re at even more of a loss when you click on the profile of a Twitter friend with whom you’d had a long and fruitful online discussion the day before and see a blank space where it used to say “FOLLOWS YOU”. Every time you log-in, wherever it may be, you could find yourself invisible to someone you thought was your friend, and found out was only a fair-weather follower.

We live on the internet now. That whole idea about how we have to look up from our phones and digital devices to have real lives and experiences is over. There isn’t always a difference between emotion and emoticon. Our challenge now is to integrate our humanity into our online lives….

Then there was this one from early February on Internet “loss”: “How do you grieve when you lose an internet friend?” – and the author is not talking here about merely being “unfollowed”:

….In an age where the internet acts as a force-multiplier for sociability (if only for those who are native to it), it is now possible to develop friendships with people we’ve never met at all. Twitter is more than just a conversation; it is a schoolyard, a lunchroom, a water cooler. “Internet friends” are still friends – at least as much as “friends” on Facebook who we haven’t seen in years.

I found out that my friend had died late at night, and reflexively direct-messaged her boyfriend on Twitter. The next morning, I wasn’t sure if I’d made a mistake: I was a stranger to them, really….

It is fascinating what has evolved in only a decade or two. Once upon a time my (internalized) general rule was a “friend” was someone I knew in person and could call on the phone and he/she would NOT be stunned to hear from me. But if any of our mobiles rang right now and on the other end (without pre-planning of course) happened to be someone who “follows” us and whom we also “follow,” but whom we’ve also never met, let’s be honest most of us would probably think something was, umm, not quite right here. 😉

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In Her Memory

Following on from yesterday, some “insider” info. If you’ve been stopping by since February, you may know. They were not idle words: I am going to do it. She will have her own page among the front matter:


The cameo appearance has made it into the tale as well.

I’ve left everything I could on Frontiers’ pages. It’s not perfect, naturally, but hand on heart I feel I’ve given it my best effort. That’s all we can ever aim to do, isn’t it?

Free Stock Photo: Sunflowers in a field.
Free Stock Photo: Sunflowers in a field.

A thought, a dedication, a nod. Just something. In a two decades’ long friendship, she never let us down. I pray I haven’t let her down now.

Whew, I need a cup of coffee….

“How was your day, dear?” (I Wish I Could Tell You)

In an early post – when I had so few popping by, I suppose I was posting then mostly to myself 😉 – I had written that I did not really feel lonely or isolated while writing. In other jobs, I had long been used to working without close supervision. I had also often worked from home too, so the lack of an outside office and colleagues was not unusual for me.

What has become an issue in the last year is I’m realizing I spend a great deal of time alone in my head with my story in a way that no one – not even my wife – fully understands. I find that at the end of a day I can’t really offload about what I’ve done, or what’s proving a challenge. Others aren’t really all that interested (and that’s not unreasonable of them) in listening to me recount it.

Free Stock Photo: Red F1 help key on a keyboard.
Free Stock Photo: Red F1 help key on a keyboard.

Example: I spent much of yesterday working quietly at my desk. I was satisfied with what I had achieved by the time I’d called it quits. Yet sharing that in any depth was simply not possible.

“How was your day, dear?”

“Fine. I got lots done. I think I’ll pour myself a Vodka and Coke.”

[What I’d give to sit down with that drink for a while and really tell you. I’d explain I wrote more of that strange love scene that’s been driving me bonkers. I also came up with what I believe is a telling (and in its way amusing) exchange at U.S. immigration, and then at baggage reclaim, at JFK. I’m thinking a Gulf princess could be involved too. Much tougher was I also got more written on characters’ reactions to an illness, which I’d drawn from the true death of a relative, and which is also why I found myself fighting back real tears as I wrote…. and which is also why I seemed a bit grouchy when you’d asked me something totally unrelated to that which I was immersed in at that very instant. I’m sorry. And, God, there’s always Kam. Straining to produce something worth unexpectedly dedicating to her memory is wearing me down emotionally. I get one shot at this. If I screw it up, I don’t get another chance.]

If you write, you have your own personal burdens and perhaps similar feelings. So I’m finding this blog useful. After all, I just told you that…. which I’d told to no one I see in person.

A finished product may eventually impress readers, but it can be difficult to share the in-progress ups and downs that are inevitable in actually getting there. I believe I would’ve benefited from having a site like this during the writing of the first book in 2013. For this year, for its sequel, I know it’s an invaluable outlet on which I can blow off some “How was your day, dear?” steam: no matter what, I can at least tell you.

Thanks for following and reading. 🙂

A Small Tribute

While walking our dog a few days ago, I had a “brainstorm”: in the sequel, in London (some of it is taking place in Britain), I would give our deceased friend Kam a literary cameo. I don’t know yet if it will make the final book, but here’s part of the early draft (click to enlarge), and I hope you enjoy it:


A few points. In that scene, I’ve fictionalized a reasonably well-known club where we had hung out with her a couple of times. My choosing to place her there was owing to the fact we met Kam frequently after work at clubs, pubs, or restaurants.

Rob and Helen are also real people. And guess who? Like certain über-famous directors “walking on” in their own films, I thought I’d slot myself in as myself: Kam always called me Rob, and my wife’s name is actually Helen.

What fiction allows us, eh? A couple of other bits. Early in our real marriage, we did live in Godmanchester. (I even met the former prime minister, John Major, in person once, when he was still the area’s MP. Ah, another life goal fulfilled. 😉 ) Kam was also almost 27 in late 1995 (although the time frame is fictional in this sense: we were not yet married in 1995). I thought I would also drop in a small “inside joke” about Kam resembling Valérie – which of course she does, given fictional Valérie is partly based on very real life Kam.

If I go with this, Kam will become the only outright real person portrayed in a speaking role in the books so far. It’s just something: words and memories are all we have left. Tomorrow (May 2), she will have been gone three months. May she rest in peace.


Thanks for stopping by. Hope you’re having a good Thursday….

Women And Men As “Just Friends?”

In the car yesterday, my wife and I drifted again into reflecting on how we still find it impossible to believe Kam is gone. If you’re a regular visitor, you may know our friend had died suddenly back on February 2, and that her loss has gutted us. She had only turned 45 in November.

Sixteen years ago, Kam was the first girlfriend of my (future) wife’s I’d met. She behaved towards me initially rather like the sidekick in late 1990s Brit romance-comedy films: the no-nonsense pal who isn’t too sure about this American guy who’s clearly after her best friend. All these years later, I still remember the skeptical looks and careful questions. Fortunately, I passed muster.

A British-born Sikh, Kam had boyfriends at various times. There were some English guys. I remember an Irish rugby player. There was even an Italian. Her parents had also “introduced” her to various “marriageable” men in the Sikh community, including one from Canada.

On that latter, Londoner and European that she was, I recall her moaning softly, “He’s okay. But I don’t want to live in Ontario.” Obviously she had never found the guy she apparently wanted to marry (or one who had wanted to marry her also). She had told us she was free to marry anyone she wanted, Sikh or not. In arranging “meetings,” she said, her parents were only trying to help; what mattered was only what she wanted.

While we drove, as we finished our latest reminiscences about her, my wife abruptly revealed this to me:

“I never told you this. Kam and I agreed years ago that if I died, she would’ve married you.”

I was so stunned, I laughed. But then I realized my wife wasn’t kidding. I had been party sorta to an “arranged second marriage” someday, although no one had ever bothered to tell me.


It was tremendously flattering. It was also jaw-dropping to discover that she had been that fond of me. I had always believed Kam and I had gotten on well, yet her usually somewhat formal, unemotional and subtle manner had always also left me feeling a bit unable to gauge what was really going on inside her head.

Several weeks after Kam died, her sister told us that in her last hours in hospital Kam had instructed her to tell us goodbye and that she had loved us. When I heard that, it took everything I had to hold myself together. I almost fell apart on the spot.

I had never before fully appreciated how as a married man the death of an unmarried woman friend can seem so difficult to characterize properly and awkward to mourn. As time has moved on, I have realized Kam’s death has upset me more than the loss of anyone I have ever known. The only ones that might have “rivaled” it to date were perhaps (when I was much younger) those of my grandparents; but the loss of grandparents is of a vastly different life order than the death of a close contemporary of course.

Men and women as just friends? Is it really possible? Kam’s death has led to that theme increasingly slipping into the writing of the sequel. Does there always have to be an unsaid undercurrent of something more than friendship?

You may know by now one of my characters is partly based on Kam. Her personality, style and attitudes, help underpin Valérie. Indeed I’m having to temper my writing: since February, missing Kam, I’m finding Valérie’s role just keeps getting bigger and bigger….

It’s A Nightmare

Yesterday morning we were told our girlfriend’s ashes will be scattered on March 10. Busy with other things in recent weeks, I had forced her death (mostly) to one side, trying not to think about it. Suddenly, it had all come rushing back.

So, virtually out of the gate, I was depressed and in a foul mood.

Then there are those times you wish you could smash your head down on the PC desk in front of you repeatedly. I came that close later on. It was after I had finished spending part of the day in another type of nightmare.

I am working on a chapter in the sequel involving one. It contains references to certain happenings in the current book, sexual symbolism (it has to have that, doesn’t it?), etc., and so on and so forth. I do think it has potential.


Yet I just don’t know. I’ll leave it for now and move on to more “conventional” storytelling. I have to ponder it some more.


I know yesterday was just a “first go” at it, and you are never supposed to throw in the towel at the first attempt. Maybe in the near future I’ll have a few glasses of something strong, re-read it afresh and re-tackle it. Being a bit “tipsy” might help. 😉