It’s been a long, long slog getting the book into print. I’ve always wanted to be a writer. Ok, for a week or two, I wanted to be a ballerina, but from the age of 11 onwards, I just wanted to write books. I wrote endless stories as a child and daydreamed plots as I grew up. I got a job writing – as a journalist – but was always jotting down ideas, reading enviously of other people’s literary successes, and dreaming of the day when I’d be a published novelist. 

Then I realised I’d actually have to write a book to get published. I limbered up with a couple of attempts at Mills and Boon romances when on maternity leave (the rejections were as firm as the pulsating manhoods I wrote about) and then decided to have a proper go when Child One started primary school in Belgium in 2001. I told all my friends I was going to write a novel, so that I’d have to keep going or lose face forever, and thought it would take a couple of years or so. I’ve pretty much been at it ever since.

It’s now been through many drafts and a couple of agents. I’ve even had quite a lot of working titles, before I lighted on Hot Chocolate, which I do think is a fab name. Of course, the book is now published under the title Schokohertz - symbolic of the way nothing about it  has turned out the way I thought it would. I was, I thought, happily married when I started to write it, and the book had a sad ending. Now it has a happy ending – oopsie, given that away – and I am divorced. Who’d have thought?

I used to write full time in Belgium. Things have inevitably been more scrappy here, as I struggle to cope with my new status as a single mother, worker, blogger and, in the odd moment that remains, novelist. But I never quite lost faith, even when, in a spooky moment, I cut a pack of Tarot cards, asking whether the book would ever be published, and TWICE the ’struggle’ card came up. And yes, I did shuffle in between. All the hairs stood up all over my body – a very odd feeling – and I gave those Tarot cards away the next day. But they were right. It’s been a struggle. It’s even been two whole years since I signed the publication deal with lovely Ullstein, after my very clever agent sold the book at the Frankfurt book fair, and then the release date was delayed by six months by the recession.

But now the book is here. Thanks to Ullstein’s wonderful efficiency, they delivered some copies to me, which I am now shipping off to my brothers and assorted relatives. Of course, none of us speak German, which is a distinct disadvantage, but though I say it myself (another tootle coming on) it is quite beautiful just as an object. Of course, I’m still dying for an English publisher to snap it up. But I have hope. As I now know for sure, dreams really can come true.

Sponsored post

Hello my dears, I thought you all deserved a lovely treat, after all my shocking boasting over the last few days (in case you’ve managed to escape it, my book is coming out today!! Click here to have a peek: http://www.amazon.de/exec/obidos/search-handle-url?_encoding=UTF8&search-type=ss&index=books-de&field-author=Alice%20Castle).

How about seeing a preview of the new Warner Brothers film Sandra Bullock has just won an Oscar for? It’s called Blind Side, and it doesn’t come out until 26th March – but you can have two free tickets to see it on the 16th, next Tuesday, thanks to Warner and the lovely folk at See Film First.

The film story goes like this: 

Teenager Michael Oher (Quinton Aaron) is surviving on his own, virtually homeless, when he is spotted on the street by Leigh Anne Tuohy (Sandra Bullock). Learning that the young man is one of her daughter’s classmates, Leigh Anne insists that Michael—wearing shorts and a t-shirt in the dead of winter—come out of the cold. Without a moment’s hesitation, she invites him to stay at the Tuohy home for the night. What starts out as a gesture of kindness turns into something more as Michael becomes part of the Tuohy family despite the differences in their backgrounds.  

His new environment gives him a different set of challenges to overcome – and the Tuohy family is forced to question its own beliefs too.  

Sounds like it’s got it all – a bit of drama, a bit of sport, a bit of touchy-feely changing for the better and, of course, an Oscar-worthy performance from Sandra B.

The film is on at the following locations:

Colchester 

Brighton 

Beckenham 

Manchester Printworks

Derby

Exeter

Guildford

Lincoln

Richmond

Worcester

Maidstone

Kettering

Kingston upon Thames

Norwich

Streatham

Epsom

Muswell Hill

Swansea

Camden Town

Edinburgh Wester Hailes

Greenwich

London

Hatfield Galleria

Huddersfield

South Woodford

Southend on Sea

Surrey Quays

Bristol

I’m definitely going, and I’ve printed off my tickets already, so I can tell you it’s easy-peasy. All you have to do is cut and paste this little code: 560634. Then go to the Film First website, enter the code, register, choose a cinema, print out your ticket, which admits two, and then just count out your loose change for popcorn. Simples!

Hope you enjoy it. Oh, and don’t forget to order my book  too!! How cheeky am I?

I know I slightly overuse those three little letters, but this is definitely an OMG moment.

My book is coming out on Friday!

I had been vaguely thinking about contacting my darling agent to see when (or even if, I admit I am a terrible pessimist and publishing is a fast-moving, cut-throat and jolly picky world) the book was coming out.  I kept getting cold feet, as she is bound to, rightly, tell me off a bit about slow progress with Novel 2. Then this morning, I had a brainwave. I would check on the German version of Amazon.

Well, I did, and look what I found:

http://www.amazon.de/Schokoherz-Alice-Castle/dp/3547711533/ref=cm_cr_pr_pb_t

Even more exciting, I already had two reviews and 3 and a half stars!!!!!

Then I clicked on the reviews, translated them, and found this:

“Brilliant SF novel about the people in an extreme situation
The earth’s climate has changed completely. The ionosphere, which protects the earth from excessive solar radiation, no longer exists.
The polar caps have melted, the sea level has risen dramatically, Europe is a jungle, where a climate is like in the Cretaceous.”

Ahem. Sadly, my book is not a brilliant SF novel about an extreme situation, though I’m beginning to wish it was. It’s the humorous tale of how a mummy journalist crashes out of her career, then finds her true self by transforming herself into a chocolatier. I  love the title of the book reviewed, though – it’s Carnival of the Alligators. Shiver! I may just have to order it for myself. But you go right ahead and get your copy of Schokohertz – it’s only euro 14.95!

Incidentally, I have been put in a bundle offer with the wonderful JG Ballard, who wrote the autobiographical Empire of the Sun but whose novels were mainly dystopian SF. I’m thrilled, I think he’s fab. Maybe my next novel will have a SF element. Yes, I can see it all now ….Chocolatier mummy sets up her new shop ….then gets whisked away by aliens in a spaceship who give her out of this world chocolate recipes! Right, off I go, 2,000 words by lunchtime ….

1. You do little sums in your head to work out how many words you’ve already written and how many you still have to go before you hit the target of 500 a day.

2. These little sums get more and more complicated and start to involve calculators, square roots and counting long words as two or, in the case of antidisestablishmentarianism, as three. And that’s a word that crops up surprisingly often in my book. Which is a little odd, as it’s chicklit, not  a critique of the 19th century High Church movement.

3. You find yourself welcoming the Ocado man like a long-lost friend and try to start a long chat with the words, ‘lovely weather we’re having!’. Then you notice it’s raining.

4. The idea of clearing out the cellar becomes curiously compelling. That spider phobia? Yep, it’s vanished.

5. The very act of opening up your novel gives you an irresistible thirst for tea. Then you realise that, whoops, you’re out of teabags and, before you know it, you’re in the middle of Sainsbury’s studying the, erm,  white wine section. Is it chardonnay o’clock yet?

6. You tell everyone not to ring you between 9 and ten. Then, when the phone goes, you leap on it and chat away to the double glazing sales lady. Eventually, she puts the phone down on you ….

7. You spend the whole day on Twitter, telling everyone you’ve got writer’s block. But that doesn’t seem to appy to those 140 characters, now does it?

8. You actually encourage the cat to come and sit on your computer keyboard. You can’t possibly disturb her now she’s settled down. She looks so cute!

9. As it’s raining outside, her little wet paws short-circuit your ancient computer and blow the whole lot up. And you’re glad!

10. You’re just thinking of your 499th word, once the computer mender has left, when you catch sight of the clock. 3.20! Yikes, got to get the girls. Damn, and it was all going so well today too …..oh well, there’s always tomorrow …..

Having recently (last year, but it often seems like a minute or two ago) moved back from Abroad, this sentence meant nothing to me. I knew, from the kindly smile bestowed on me, that an incredibly generous offer had just been made. I could also see that a response was urgently required, but I wasn’t sure what on earth it could be. Luckily, other nearby year 5 and 6 Mummies, sensing action, zoomed in. ‘The exams! How did Chloe get on?’ one asked Nice Mummy in tones of deep concern, as though the poor girl had an incurable illness, with hours, not days to live. ‘And how many did she do?’ Just then, Pushy bustled up. ‘Well, if you don’t want the past papers, DD, I’ll have them for young Sophie, she’s doing the exams in two years’ time.’

That decided it. Of course I wanted the papers, and I wanted them now. Whatever the hell they were.

The next morning, Chloe staggered over to me. ‘Mummy said to give you this,’ she panted, and she dropped a huge sack at my feet. ‘Er, thanks,’ I said, hefting it over my shoulder and tottering back to the car. On the kitchen table, later, I spread out the contents. Book after book of practice papers, mock exams in English and Maths, extra-curricular project ideas, rafts of guides on punctuation and spelling …..

Excuse me, but isn’t my ex-husband shelling out a fortune every month to the school to teach my child and drag it through SATS? And shouldn’t said child, therefore, breeze through entrance exams to other schools, assuming I can get it together to fill in the forms (by no means a certainty) and square it with the ex-husband that the child may move to a more expensive school (almost definitely a negative)?
What on earth is going on here?

Of course, it didn’t take me long to find out that Nice Mummy, whom I for a second or two started regarding as an insane hot-houser, would actually be considered incredibly lax by almost everybody I know. What I should really be doing, or should have had in hand months ago, is additional tutoring, at vast expense, in any weak spots. Trudging through books is so the easy option.

When we arrived home later, the books were still there, in threatening piles. ‘Are you seriously expecting me to do any of that stuff, Mummy?’ said the child in question. I hummed. On the one hand, most of me was screaming no. On the other, a little part of me was thinking, when in Dulwich ……’We’ll have to see,’ I hedged. The child gave me a look of deep loathing and went off to fry its brain in front of the telly.

Next day, Nice Mummy confided that Chloe had been called in to do an extra test for a scholarship, for a delicious ten per cent off the fees (which is a vindication of the books method, versus intensive individual tuition, I might add). There had been 20-odd nervous girls there, including a handful from the junior school, and she had been one of the first called in. ‘She breezed out when she’d finished and headed straight for her friends, still waiting to go in, and I could hear her saying, ‘now, don’t worry, the answer to the first question is this and then they’ll ask you that ….’ Honestly, she was telling them the whole lot. I almost felt like shouting, ‘Noooooooooooooooo!’ ‘, she said.

Poor Nice Mummy. But Nice Mummy, Nice Daughter.