Listening to my critics

Five years ago, I wrote 'But you are in France, Madame.' I had no particular aspiration to tell my story, no desire to hold a published book in my hands, no illusion that I was doing the world a service by writing - and certainly no belief that it would be a money-making venture. So, why did I do it? I guess it was for me. The thing is that I did not realise that at the time. Neither did I truly understand that my story would be read around the world and that that would open me up to scrutiny ... to criticism. Naive? Probably. 

I have been called a bogan (and similar), my parenting has been questioned and my writing has been pulled apart ... by people who do not know me but feel completely at ease with passing judgement. Some days, the personal attacks are so hurtful that I feel that the only option is to give up ... to stop writing. It usually takes a couple of days before I can once again put into perspective that these anonymous (and most are that) attacks could possibly be saying more about those who write them than me. I slowly pull myself together and start again - before the cycle repeats.

But, I have listened to those who have bothered to write with actionable critiques. You were right: I was inexperienced; I did not know anything about writing or the publishing process. For you, I have updated my files for 'But you are in France, Madame': available in print or ebook by clicking on the links.

And in so doing, I take heart from Germaine Greer*; a stellar, accomplished literary figure. In an interview with Julia Zamiro, she tells us that she did not consider her first book, 'The Female Eunach,' to be her best book but goes on to say that it was the best book that she could write at the time. 

Here's to listening and learning ... and being gentle, or even re-considering, when you feel the urge to be nasty.

*Germaine Greer (/ɡrɪər/; born 29 January 1939) is an Australian writer and public intellectual, regarded as one of the major voices of the radical feminist movement in the later half of the 20th century. (thank-you Wikipedia)

Let it grow, let it grow...

I moved my desk downstairs a week or so ago. Historically, when we bought this house and all three children were still living at home, there was not enough room to have a study of my own. My desk was placed in the kitchen and didn't ever get moved out. I haven't minded, particularly during lockdown, as it has meant that I have been blessed with lovely meandering conversations as different members of the family have wandered up for food at various times of the day. Long coffee breaks have been spontaneous and I've also had quick access to the microwave to re-heat my heat packs, and to the kettle (which in our case is a saucepan on the stove). Sure, occasionally it has been hard to concentrate and I decided after years of not even contemplating a move for my desk and me, that it was time. 

That evening I read two reviews for But you are in France, Madame. They had come in a week or so apart but I hadn't noticed them. One was a 2-star review, the other 5 stars. Which do you think wouldn't leave me and gave me a fitful night's sleep?

Apparently, it is human nature to dwell on the negative so that we learn not to make the same mistake twice. Huh. Well that hasn't worked. I had moved my desk in order to concentrate better on writing my...second...book. 

Now, one of the other bonuses of the last few months is that I have taken the time to nurture my plants. Look how they are rewarding me.                        

Pride cometh before a fall

I ran up the stairs yesterday with a smug feeling: no idea why, but I was feeling pretty happy with myself. My slipper caught the top of the step. I didn't fall, but I was quite literally taken down a peg. Slightly more cautiously, I rounded the entrance to the kitchen. My shoulder caught the wall. Again, I steadied myself and spun slowly around a couple of times... reflective. Positivity; not allowed? Optimism; too bold? Smile and confidence banished.

It occurred to me that those few moments were a good representation of my writing journey. The ups and downs can be confoundingly extreme. On a good day, I hear from people around the world, my book sales are good, I will wake up and have messages from real editors (does that make me a real writer?) and the words pour out of me. Then there are the bad days. I see me as people who don't know me, see me...and oftentimes, that is judgemental. I get it.

Part of the internal debate comes from this gnarly question: as a self-published author, am I a real writer? Way back when I had no idea of what I was doing, I didn't have a choice. I also know that I presumed, incorrectly, that knocking once at a few doors was all that anyone did. Most days, I assume my decision, but love falling on articles like this one, Facts and Figures about Self Publishing: The Impact and Influence of Indie Authors

Whichever way you look at the math, indie authors earn more per sale than those who work exclusively with trade publishers. The average trade-published author earns approximately 7.5% of their’s books cover price, and those with agents lose a further 15% of that. Self-publishing platforms like Amazon, Apple Books, Ingram Spark and Kobo pay up to 70% of each book sold to authors. Those indie authors who sell direct to readers from their own websites take in up to 96% of the value of the book. Of course, publishing costs have to be deducted from this income but there’s no question that over the life of a book, indie authors earn more. 

Then, the judgement is so much more tolerable.

Little by little, I am figuring things out. It is quite the journey.

To read my contribution to this world of Indies, click here for your copy of 'But you are in France, Madame' or send me a message cb222@me.com. A bientôt.

Is there a right time for France?

Is there a right time for France? Yes.
Is there a perfect time? No.

I'm not talking about a holiday, but the question of how one decides on the timing for that big French trip - family adventure, permanent move, year-long sabbatical...?

The thing is, most of us, given a little encouragement, will choose inertia; what we are familiar or comfortable with. It takes effort, commitment, and a real belief in what you are doing, to resist the urge to stay put.


It also takes clarity about why you are even thinking about going to France. Have you put pen to paper and debated the answers to questions such as:

Why France and not another country?

For how long do you want to go?

Where in France do you think you will be happy - be specific: city, village, seaside, mountains...?

Is it to run away from what is your current normal?

What if you don't like it when you get there?

What if you decide to stay longer than your original plan?

Do you have the finances to cover your time away?

How does work, present and future, fit into the plan to go to France?

How will you find accommodation, schools, doctors, dentists, information..?

How will you cope with being distant from family and friends?

Is learning the language important to you?

Each person's situation is different, but I want to focus specifically on planning your French adventure with children. Timing, then, is a subject of enormous consideration, and often great angst for parents. From talking to families planning their time away, doing our own French adventure and my years of working as Head of School, I would say this: we are very good at protecting our children, shielding them from difficulties, and not fully believing that they are (or can become) resilient and strong when things don't work out for them. More questions:

Is your trip principally for them, for you or for the family?

Is your trip so that your children can become bilingual?

Is it so that your children can see the world from a different perspective?

How will they cope with a change from what is familiar?

Only you know what your children are capable of, but I would guard against making decisions based on what you believe your children do and don't want. They don't yet know and unless you give them an opportunity to spread their wings, they may not know for longer...or ever. My experience is that more people regret not going than going, even when things are difficult for a period of time.

Gathering information and talking with others that have done, or are thinking of doing, their trip to France is useful, although, once again, the questions will never all be answered fully, and the timing will never be perfect for every member of your family. Don't be swayed, or side-tracked, by another family's decision making (including mine 😏).

All good luck to you. My personal perspective is that most things are surmountable, and that the positives do outweigh the negatives. If you need a sounding board, drop me a line at cb222@me.com.

To read about our French experience, 'But you are in France, Madame' can be purchased directly from me (email above) or by clicking on the link.

But I now know the rules

I've been trying to work out if I've got it in me. Is there a sequel, or a prequel, waiting under my wings? Another book. Many have asked, as they are interested. Who would have thought? They want to know what led up to, and followed on from 'But you are in France, Madame', how I am, how the family is, where we are in the world and how France fits into our lives currently. I am chuffed, flattered and intrigued by this. Indubitably. I just don't know if I can. The stories are there, but something has changed: a new-found shyness, a desire to communicate with the world, and yet, a need for distance.

But you are no longer in France, Madame

The other problem is that I now know the rules.

Is there such a thing as a conservative rebel? If there is, it's me. I have never wanted to be outrageous, noticed or dangerous. In fact, I grew up thinking that I had to toe the line, be polite, give way to others and do what I was told. At the same time, I hated conforming.

'But you are in France, Madame' was written. Yes, passive voice, as I was a passive contributor. The words found their way out. I knew nothing about writing. I knew nothing about publishing. I knew next to nothing about marketing, and I thought I loathed everything to do with social media. Blogging? Uh uh, not for me. Facebook? Nope. Too showy. Instagram? What even is that? Or so I thought.

I didn't follow the 'writing a book' rules the first time around because I simply did not know them.

Much like taking the family to France.

I see that what we did as a family was a rather uninformed leap of faith. Buying a house in France was an even bigger hop, skip and lunge. Figuring out how to live between two countries, on opposite sides of the world, with our lives - and the world - changing constantly, is just huge.

If I had my time again, would I do things differently?

Even though I know with certainty that I made mistakes, both with my writing and our French living, and am clear that things could have been easier or better, my answer is always the same.

How can I be so sure?

Because it led me to you.

And back to me.










As if to put a point final on my thoughts, mid-way through drafting today's blog, I read a post from une âme soeur (a kindred spirit) at A Family In France (excerpt below). One family, three children, five bags (or thereabouts), the promise of a year in the south-west of France and an unfinished, imperfect French connection. Sound familiar?

Today, we are home again, sooner than I intended and still trying to unwind the bureaucratic grip of our French life. 

People ask ‘how was France?’ and I know the answer they want to hear is ‘amazing’. They want the fairytale, the happy ending, the dream fulfilled, tales of incredible adventures and unabashed family bliss. They want the picture perfect village that welcomed us in, lasting friendships and endless fun times.

Like everything in life, the real answer is far more complex. Our French adventure brought highs and lows, sometimes within a single day. It was joyful and it was gut wrenchingly painful. It was hugely challenging and profoundly rewarding. It was fun and it was sombre. It was a time of rich connection and deep loneliness, when we saw our circle shrink and our world expand.

Click here for more.