Dinah Jefferies's Blog

I have recently had 32 injections in my head, neck, and shoulder, plus a couple more in my forehead and between the brows. Acupuncture with poison my husband calls it. But this botox treatment was not administered for cosmetic reasons, but as a preventative measure against migraine. I will keep you posted on how well it works. In the meantime if half of my forehead looks smoothed out and the other half doesn't, you'll know the reason why. Apparently it can take up to 10 days to kick in, and, yes, it did hurt, though I was actually fine. The woman before me almost passed out! I am a toughie...

I was just thinking about place today. About WHERE. Call it what you will. Setting or Location maybe. For me it’s all about the spirit of a place. How a place makes me feel, the images it conjures and the sounds and the smells of it. Of course different places trigger all sorts of memories, some conscious, others less, so but it’s an experience we all share. Other places we may not have been but something about them speaks to us. Maybe it’s to do with films we’ve seen or books we’ve read. Some places resonate so strongly that it’s hard to believe we’ve never set foot there. That’s what I look for when planning a new novel – a place that intrigues me, that carries a hint of mystery, that’s somehow a bit different. For me the time period or WHEN comes next.So what places speak to you? And why? Or is it something you just can't put your finger on?

Dinah, Book publicity

This has been the day after the storm of the night before. Trains are running. Trains are not running. You go with the flow and hope you'll get there..... Then the truth dawns. You won't get there. But now, stranded in basically nowhere, will you even be able to get home?

Stay calm and breathe, he says. I am, she says. Whose idea was it to attempt this journey anyway? Oh no, was it mine? I am an idiot. You should have known I am an idiot, she says. You wouldn't have listened, he says.

Storms, snow, rain, wind happens. Shit happens. Trains run. Trains don't run. Let's look on the bright side, at least we don't have cyclones or tornados in England, she says. Have you seen what global warming predicts, he says. Sod global warming; now I've got gold nails, and all for nothing, she says.

I hate not writing: miss the mixing of blood and fairy dust. Whether this is because writing makes me feel happier than anything else, or if there's some weird psychological imbalance going on, I don't know. Perhaps all those people who doubted my sanity were right after all. I tend to think it's a combination of all those things. There are always ups and downs in life, and there are an awful lot of them if you write for a living.

Right now it doesn't help that we are undergoing the removal of an old kitchen plus the floor beneath it, and the installation of new. There are builders, there is dust, and the contents of the kitchen are stored in our living room. The dog is dusty and terribly confused. My study is immediately above the kitchen and I'm confused too. Where are the teabags? Where is my one mug?

Although I've invested in earplugs, they don't work brilliantly, especially as I still have to hear if I'm called, or if the doorbell goes. Luckily I have a day away tomorrow. I shall be in London for a meeting with my publisher and my publicist. So moan over. I'll paint my nails gold, we'll have a shiny new kitchen soon, and I'll get over this hump in the twinkle of an eye, or at least before I can say, 'Now where did I save that plot outline? Oh no! Don't tell me ...'