butterflyghost

So, my historical novel about the life of St Patrick is out now, on amazon and other sites, both as a paperback and downloadable for e-readers - kindle, and about thirty other devices. Here is the front cover - pretty cool, actually.

I'm not terribly good at publicity, and am nervous about this, but I'm hoping this website will help explain what it is all about. http://leahmacmoire.co.uk 

(Teenage boy kidnapped and sold as a slave - that's the short version.) If folks choose to have a look at my writer's blog, I will be grateful for any feedback. And if you do happen to read and like the book, then please review it on amazon (or goodreads, or whatever.) I accept concrit by the way - so if there is something you don't like about it, you can let me know via the feedback forms on my blog. I am writing others in the series, so that kind of feedback is really helpful.

But anyway - the book is here! Let me know what you think. (You can download the book here. It is  )

Thank you all kindly!

Just quickly dropping by to say that some things are a bit better than they have been. Back to guitar, working on what Elspeth calls 'gappy hand' for an arpeggio technique. Not sure what the technical term for it is, but it's both very difficult and weirdly hypnotic. Had a good lesson today.

In desperation at the complete lack of regular physio from the NHS and the long waiting lists, I joined a gym - it was half price as a new year offer. When else am I going to be able to join a gym for ten pounds a month? So, I've been in three times. First time was induction - the guy knew all about my slipped disc, and worked out a plan for me to strengthen core muscle without hurting myself again. So, no running, but I can use the cross trainer, rower and bike for cardio. And no free weights - he showed me which machines to use, and what to watch out for so I knew if I was doing them correctly or not. And he worked me out a series of stretches and toning exercises. I'm still a couple of stone overweight, but I knew that anyway.

So far so good - I'm sticking to the programme and trying to keep my heart rate maxed out at 180. (It's been up over 200, which is probably bad, but it recovers quickly when I slow down. Blood pressure and resting heart rate are fine, and hopefully I'll keep them that way.)

Tomorrow is a busy day - got to see my therapist tomorrow, then I will be gymming it, then I will be doing .... uh.... something. I know not what, but it shall be the terror of the earth!

Oh and very good news, which has taken a tremendous load off me - the Nasty Neighbour is MOVING! The housing association phoned to let me know that they are taking the keys back from her on Monday, and that she should be out of my life. (And out of the village.)

This is a huge relief - I can't even begin to express how relieved I am. It seems very sudden as well. 

Though, it would appear I have inherited a pregnant cat. She has taken up residence in my shed area, and is already at the stage of 'not eating, building nests, turning in circles and wailing.' This is one of NN's cats, and I'm glad on the cat's behalf that it appears she isn't going with.

We'll see though. I'm not counting my chickens (or kittens) before they're hatched.

 My back seems to be a lot improved. After however many weeks its been of it constantly getting worse, over the last few days it has been getting better. I know a lot of it is the painkillers, but I was able to reduce them yesterday and today, and things seem to be holding steady. The few days where I was doped to the gills actually helped because I was able to move more - and today I put my shoes and socks on unassisted! Still not running, but walking better. 

And, thirteen days from now my glasses should be ready. I'm quite nervous that the new prescription will be hard to get used to, but I shouldn't think the worst. If it doesn't work, I'll just have to go back in and get them changed to something more manageable.


And, ooh! Even as we speak, I got  a delivery just now from America - a Fluffybutts dog calendar. Awesome... I always forget to buy myself a calendar.

Plus... OMG. My son got a tattoo. 

Okay, so very brief fly by post today, but OMG! (I've already told Magister about this, since he was intimately involved.) 

Finally, they have figured out what is wrong with my back! For over eighteen years now I have been complaining of back pain, occasionally so crippling I can't move at all. (Occasionally so bad I have threatened to kill Magister, who, thank God, knows me well enough to forgive me, and has the reflexes of a bat. The amount of balled up socks that I could have killed that poor man with, had I only been able to get out of bed and smother him with them...)

Anyway, can you believe that I was GLAD when the MRI scan came back showing something?

Turns out, being in labour for ... oh, I think it was a century and half, wasn't it?... and being given stuff that paralyses your lower limbs so you can't even twitch your toe, no matter how badly your back hurts... turns out that is BAD for you. Turns out, it leaves little fissures and cracks on your coccyx, and bulges all along your back that your nerves get trapped in. Turns out that nearly two decades of doctors saying 'it's all in your mind,' or 'it's just hormones, it will settle down once you're past menopause'... turns out that's crap. (Yeah, that's right, because no woman ever got backache that wasn't related to hormones.)

It does also turn out that there are things they can do to help. So, despite being pissed at the medical profession in general, I am glad. And VERY glad for my current doctor, who ordered the MRI scan, and preemptively apologised for the medical profession, because she couldn't understand why I'd been waiting so long.

You know what, all hail that doctor. Within about two weeks of her ordering the MRI I've got a sodding result. That's a miracle. 

Also, to put this in perspective, me and Magister are glad. (I mean, I'm sure he would prefer me NOT to have a bad back, but he'll understand what I'm saying.)

Let's face it, if I had to break my back for somebody, Magister and I officially have the BEST son in the world. If somebody had presented me any other human being on the planet and said, 'this will be your son, for the rest of your life you will walk around feeling like your heart is living in someone else's chest, you will feel like dying if someone even looks at him wrong...' for anyone else, I would have said 'no'. If anyone else had said, oh, 'let's add long term back ache and (other random embarrassing issues) to the mix,' I would have said 'no.'

But, hey, it's just past two AM, my back is killing me, my son is eighteen and a half, and wow. I don't care! My back has been hurting for nearly twenty years, and he's worth it.

Thank you, Magister, for being part of our awesome son. (This is not me being passive aggressive at all, this is genuine thanks. Ride has met the son and heir, she knows how awesome he is, and how much better the world is with him in it.)

So, at the end of a stressful however long, I've been weighing things up, and on balance, they are good. Sometimes people think the end of a marriage is the failure of a relationship - I disagree. Magister and I never failed. In fact, we succeeded. We met when we were six months older than our son. We still love each other, we're still talking. Our son knows that he can rely on us both, he rolls his eyes when we go of on fannish tangents.... unless of course he's joining in. When I have a problem, Magister is one of the first people I talk to - always has been, over twenty years now, even when I officially 'hated' him. I always knew I could trust him,  that he would be there. I hope he feels the same about me. Our marriage ended, it didn't fail. If somebody stuck a gun at my head and demanded I tell them who my best friend was, there would be two on the list, and Magister would be one. (Of course, such a hypothetical someone would shoot me before I could blurt out an answer. Hence the need for fanfic... I now feel the need to write... something. I know not what, but it shall be the terror of the earth. It might involve blindfolded Fraser choosing between Rays... Damnyou fanbrain, shut up, I'm trying to write something meaningful here!)

Anyway, back to the over-emotionalism. Everyone thinks S looks like me, then they see your photo, Magister, and their jaws drop, and if they're female (or even in the slightest way bi) they go 'wow.' You're not PG good looking, (IRL who Who the hell is?) But our poor lad wants to know can he 'shave his head bald' because he's freaked out by girls at college petting it and asking him out. I have told him - no. He cannot get his head shaved bald. If the girls asking him out are a problem, he can sic me on them. 

As a joint parental decision, you would agree with this, yes? I mean the 'not shaving his beautiful hair issue,' not the 'psychotic mommy issues, omg, is she for real, holy crap, I hope she doesn't have a knife, holy cow, she has a knife issues...' which I accept are all my own. Fortunately, they don't realise I'm crippled with pain, they just think I'm very, very cross.

Finally, just so you'se all know. Yes, I am in pain, and sentimental. And no, I am not drunk, nor high. nor on pain meds. (Though Lord, I wish I was.) However, I just felt the urge to revel in the fact that there is a reason for my backache, potential help for it, and that, in the end, who cares.... my son is awesome. Which should have been a very short posting, but then led me to thinking... hey, his Dad is awesome too! Which led to me thinking about tall men with curly hair, which led me to thinking about Doctor Who....

And now I am thinking about Ride being here, and the DW episodes that S and I are considering showing her. (Classic Who? New Who? Shall we just go bananas and watch Torchwood instead? 'Urgh, no! Jack will probably shag a cactus!' 'Son, what sort of fanfic have you been reading?' 'Nothing, I just watched Torchwood. He's a trysexual... try anything, '  etc. There go our evenings.)

Waiting till Ride is here in the next.... TEN DAYS!!!)

So, it  is now officially Thursday the eighteenth in the UK. I've made it through my seventh anniversary without Neil. This time, of course, I couldn't phone his mother. My son and I had planned on watching one of 'his' movies - ended up listening to his music instead. Now I've got Eddie Starr, and the Kinks, Bob Marley, and Northern Soul and Bread in my head.

Tomorrow - today, actually - I have to get up early for an MRI scan. Not so much scared of it as completely bewildered. I don't know what to expect, and don't know if I can actually lie motionless for twenty-five minutes in an enclosed space while a machine is making whooshing noises all around me. Not to mention the fact that lying on my back for that length of time is going to hurt like hell. Honestly, I'm an eejit - I should have phoned my doctor and asked for an anti anxiety med. Too late now.

Other than that - well, really, things are okay. The police did finally come out and take S and my statements. Nasty neighbour has stayed away. The dS troll has been quiet for a few days. (I keep having to delete insults veiled as 'reviews,' have had to ban her from my journal, report her to various mods on various forums, and flag up her email as spam. It's been going on since my last day in Toronto, so about a month now.)

And... seriously, I'm an adult. How can I let such silly things get to me? Séamus' girlfriend had much more serious back issues than I do, and she's just a kid. She managed to lie still in the MRI scan. So, I can do it.

Just a shame I can't read dS fic while I'm in there. I'll just have to think myself into my happy place instead.

So, sad news. Yesterday my good neighbour and friend, Ted, passed away. He's been ill as long as I knew him - the last two years - and he's also been consistently kind and decent no matter what.

First met him a few days before my son and I moved in, officially. The famous S and I were painting the living room, looked around, and there was a little old man painting the walls with us. "Hello," he said cheerfully. "I'm your next door neighbour."

He liked to garden - soon after I moved in, I woke up one morning, and he was out front, planting flowers along the borders in my front garden. He tried valiantly (and failed) to impart some of his knowledge to my son, but did succeed in teaching him how a lawnmower works. (Walk in straight lines, don't weave around like a drunken sailor.) When my mother-in-law was ill, I asked the famous S to keep an eye on Ted when I was away. I then asked Ted to keep an eye on S when I was away. This resulted in them cooking a meal together and sitting watching telly in Ted's living room - again, Ted valiantly tried to teach the FS the joys of football. Nothing doing. Did teach him snooker though, and they developed a mutual love for watching big trucks hauling across America and Canada, (particularly the ones travelling the iceroads) Warehouse Wars, and so on.

Sadly, he was financially abused by one of our other neighbours, to a shocking extent. (Basically she stripped him of his pension, 'borrowed' thousands of pounds, and sent him on weekly grocery runs for her and whatever animal is unfortunate enough to live with her.)

Some of you will will remember that she also caused me a lot of trouble earlier this year, when she started trying to blackmail me. Yes, pathetic really - she threatened to out me to our village church. (My girlfriend really, really doesn't want to be outed. Apparently the shock of it would scar her boys for life. I'm supposed to wait ten years until her youngest is eighteen.)

So, eventually, the lady now to be referred to as 'Nasty Neighbour' became so threatening and abusive that I had to take legal action to protect my son and I. (She had shown him pornographic pictures of herself, and then told people he was 'sexually confused' because his reaction was one of disgust rather than what she'd been expecting.) When I was in Manchester looking after my dying mother in law, she was texting me constantly, sending my son to the shop to get her electricity and gas, etc.

Once she sent after my son, that was it. I decided not to be blackmailed, and came out locally - to mixed reaction.(Most people really don't care. My erstwhile church are all praying for me) Didn't tell them who my girlfriend was (none of their business really.) Nasty Neighbour at that point started threatening suicide, threatening to kill her dog by injecting him with Ted's insulin, banging on my door and texting me on a regular basis, asking for money, or my prescription medication, repeating either that she would kill herself if I didn't comply, that I was abusing her, or that she was going to set my garden on fire. I texted her politely asking her to desist, followed by a barrage of hate mail. Which was actually a good thing, because it provided evidence in court, and she was slapped with both an injunction and a PIN, forbidding her to approach or communicate with my son and I, or to send any of her associates on her behalf.

Unfortunately she got legal aid, turned up in court saying it had all been a terrible misunderstanding, that her mental health would suffer irreparably if she was burdened with an injunction. So, the injunction got swapped over to a 'Promise of Good Behaviour,' with a duration of only three months. (If she broke her promise to the court it was still an arrestable offence.) 

Anyway, she's been trying to stretch the terms of her PIN ever since - Famous S and I have continued to blank her.

As soon as I heard that Ted died, I knew in my gut that she'd use it as an excuse to try to approach us. My gut was right. Last night included banging on our front door. When we slammed it in her face there was a little bit of shouting. Then she sent around one of her boyfriends. Then she sent me abusive texts, including one telling me that neither S nor I are welcome at Ted's funeral, that we're petty, pathetic, that everyone knows about our 'disgusting display' (I think she means me shutting my own front door without a word and turning the key.)

Obviously, the police have been informed. 

What is sad is that she has obviously got away with this kind of behaviour before. In Ted's case, toward the end of his life he was frightened to be seen talking to me in public places. We'd chat over the back fence, but I couldn't have a cup of tea in his living room anymore, because she had a tendency to storm in and start yelling at him if she thought he was talking to her 'enemies.' (Of whom I am obviously Maniacal Enemy Number One. I mean, seriously? Who has mortal enemies in real life? Besides me, apparently.)

Ted was a lovely old man, and I'm sad to have lost his company, but glad that he is out of the debilitating and constant struggle he had with his blood pressure, heart and diabetes. I'm glad that he's no longer forking over most of his pension money to this woman, I'm glad that he's in a better place. Or, if my religious theories are wrong, and the soul doesn't survive, then still - he's out of pain, and no longer being bullied.

Anyway - obviously I can't go to her funeral. Ted's been dead less than 24 hours, and she's already making the whole thing into a soap opera. As my son says, 'it doesn't matter Mum, we don't have to go. Ted won't be there, after all.'

Just - a sad end to the week. He had been looking forward to meeting ride again in a few months (he wanted to see your reaction to the Scottish blue potatoes in my garden, and had made some slow gin a few years ago he thought you might like.)

And sorry for the long and rather gratuitous self-pity post, and any typos herein. It's been a long and horrible year for the most part, with certain exceptions. (dS con for the win!)

Guess I needed to get it off my chest. 

Okay, now I'm going to breathe.

So, my back is much better. Still tender, but I can walk around and everything. After a mere eighteen years of complaining the doctors are finally booking me in for an MRI. The very nice doctor I saw today (I was actually able to walk to the surgery, though it took longer than usual) apologised to me on the part of the profession. Apparently most of her colleagues over the years have been writing my back pain of as psychosomatic (because, you know, people with mental illnesses never ever get anything physically wrong with them.)

She examined me, stuck pins in me etc, and thinks it's probably neurological, but probably not anything to worry about. It 'should be manageable,' but she wants to see the spinal involvement to be sure. Looks like I'll be on anti inflammatories and painkillers for a while, but at least I don't need those effing anti spasmodics anymore.

Currently sitting at home, unable to write.

Well, never mind. It will come back to me at some point. I think. I hope.

It always has done before.