Figs, Katie Fforde, and talking about today
Approximately-weekly news, #53
The summer skies are here, my friends. Much as I love September-sky moodiness, February-sky brooding, and the scudding of March-sky clouds, there’s something about May. (No filter.)
I’m not sure whether I have mentioned this before, but I love a fig above almost all things. Bring ‘em to me fresh, dried, grilled with goat cheese. I’ll take them chocolate-covered, jammed, chutnied. I wouldn’t draw the line at a silver pendant in the shape of a fig; I might consider a dress with a fig print. And yes, I did name the dog* in ‘The Second Chance Book Club’ Figgy, and I did give September a fabulous fig-based lunch, which is, I think, exactly the same as a lunch I once ate and still think about.
Until a couple of weeks ago, I had not encountered a pickled fig.
I have now.
The verdict? Really good texture. Taste-wise, not figgy enough.
You are welcome.
I was a reading snob until I was well into my thirties. I stopped being a reading snob when I was having treatment for breast cancer, and *finally* understood that reading for fun and entertainment and pleasure ONLY was a legitimate thing to do.
For clarity: I had always, always loved to read. But I definitely had an idea of what was worth reading. Which was so wrong. I read many excellent things during my book snob years, and I also trudged through worthy tomes best left to those who have discovered the key to eternal life and so have no constraints on their reading time. (To name a few: early Anthony Trollope, late Donna Tartt, anything that requires a notebook to keep track of the timeline, all of Dickens, any novel that leaves out punctuation.)
During breast cancer treatment - those peculiar days when I was not ill enough to need someone to care for me, and not well enough to do very much at all - I would walk to the library and return with armfuls of novels by Agatha Christie and Katie Fforde, and then I would read until someone came home from school/work or ‘Deal Or No Deal’ came on.** I was held by those novels. I was comforted and warmed.
When my writing career began in earnest, Katie Fforde was one of my first champions. And now she has read ‘The Second Chance Book Club’ and she said this.
It’s hard to find the words to say what this means to me. I may have had a little weep*** when the email came.
In other TSCBC news, I am a chart-topper in ‘Clean & Wholesome Romance’. Which I am delighted about.
But make no mistake, A Certain Character in ‘The Second Chance Book Club’ is absolutely filthy (you know who I mean if you’ve read it), in all the good ways.
I’ve had many lovely messages and emails about walking with grief, and one thing that comes up again and again is that of not knowing what to say to a grieving person. This is completely understandable. We worry about upsetting people/making it worse/getting it wrong. Most of us know how hard grief is.
Grief is overwhelming and frequently feels (is) unnavigable, because you simply don’t know what’s going to be next. Maybe a robin. Maybe looking at a jar of pickled eggs**** in a supermarket and feeling the world turn cold and grey and sucking at you so you cannot take another step.
Here’s my tip. The word ‘today’ is your friend when you’re talking to the grieving.
‘How are you?’ is frequently impossible to answer. ‘How are you today?’ I can have a go at.
This is also true of ‘What have you been up to?’ versus ‘What have you been up to today?’, ‘How are things?’/’How are things today?’, ‘I’ve been thinking about Lou’/ ‘I was thinking about Lou today.’ And - if you have sought out the grieving person, and not just found them crying at the pickled eggs, ‘What can I do to help you today?’ is much more accessible than ‘‘What can I do to help?’
Before I go, announcements:
Please message me if you’re interested in writing services for the autumn - I’m getting booked up. The waiting list is open for summer slots and mentoring.
The rockery-that-is-a-visual-representation-of-the-new-novel is flourishing, thank goodness. Nothing has died, there are flowers on the fuchsia, and a bee was doodling about on one of the dwarf apple trees, which can only be a good sign.
I’m in Wetherby next week! Hooray! (Tickets here)
Until next time, friends, be well. I’m sending you love and light.
Stephanie x
*Harris would like to remind you that he also makes a cameo appearance.
** I had never watched ‘Deal Or No Deal’ before chemo, and I have never watched it since. But for those months it was perfect. A little bit of jeopardy, a little bit of silliness, different-but-the-same every day, and a just-enough 45 minutes long.
*** sobbed my heart out
**** Lou, unique among people I know, loved a pickled egg. I wonder what she would have made of a pickled fig. It seems that even in 37 years of friendship you don’t get to everything.
Thank you so much for 'today', excellent advice which I will remember to use. As you say, although we have mostly all gone through grief, we still never quite know what to say to the grieving.