RELIQUARY The book that got me through 2015

I don't usually share personal stuff, but I think now is the time.

Yesterday, Reliquary, my latest adult novel, was published. It's an urban fantasy with hints of erotic romance, and writing it (and the other books in the series, all of which I wrote last year and will be published over the next few months) helped get me through one of the toughest periods in my life thus far.

I experienced four major life stressors in 2015. My marriage ended. I had to leave the job I'd had for ten years and dearly loved. I moved from the home I thought I'd grow old in. And one of my children was diagnosed with what will be a lifelong medical condition that requires constant monitoring and intervention (Type 1 diabetes). I am fortunate to have friends and family who love me dearly and support me unconditionally, but even so, I'm gonna be honest--I'm okay now, and much happier than I was, but there were times last year when I thought I was going to crater.

Reliquary was the story that came to me as I walked through the painful early days of 2015, and telling it carried me through the weeks and months that followed. The series is about Mattie, a woman who thinks she has the life she wants, and then is forced to choose between her safe, predictable small-town world and the much bigger, scarier, and less certain world of magic. Her decision does not occur in one moment--it is a process that plays out through the series--and although (sadly) I don't have special powers or Asa Ward in my real life, writing the books allowed me to work through some of my own decisions.

Maybe I'm not supposed to admit that. It's all about the story, right? It has to stand on its own. (I think it does. Also, Asa Ward.) But I think writing and reading are redemptive in so many ways--they offer us a safe place to to explore our feelings, to tread paths and live out choices we cannot (or might not yet), for whatever reason, experience in our everyday lives. They give us characters and events and dynamics to bounce off of, to hate or love, to embrace or push away. When stories work, they capture moments and emotions with such intensity that they slide under our skin and into our bloodstream.

I wrote Reliquary because I needed to. I had to. It is pure escape, dark and sexy and fun, yet more psychologically real than almost anything I've yet written.

I'm so happy I get to share it with you.

Mattie Carver’s engagement party should have marked the start of her own personal fairy tale. But when her fiancé, Ben, is violently abducted the next morning, her desperate quest to find him rips her away from small-town life and reveals a shattering truth: magic is real—and Ben is hooked. It’s not the stuff of storybooks. It’s wildly addictive, capable of producing everything from hellish anguish to sensual ecstasy almost beyond human endurance.

Determined to find out who took Ben and why, Mattie immerses herself in a shadowy underworld and comes face-to-face with the darkly alluring Asa Ward, a rogue magic dealer, infamous hustler…and her missing fiancé’s estranged brother. Asa has the power to sense magic, and he realizes Mattie is a reliquary, someone with the rare ability to carry magic within her own body, undetected. Asa agrees to help find Ben on one condition: Mattie must use her uncommon talent to assist his smuggling operations. Now, from magic-laced Vegas casinos to the netherworld clubs of Bangkok, Mattie is on a rescue mission. With Asa by her side, she’ll face not only the supernatural forces arrayed against her but the all-too-human temptation that she fears she can’t resist.

Words That Work in Deceptive Drug Company Advertising to Physicians

"It depends upon what the meaning of the word 'is' is." ~ Bill Clinton

I recently came across a rather humorous document from a legal action that was taken way back in 2008 against the drug company giant AstraZenica (AZ) in litigation over marketing issues with its antipsychotic drug, Seroquel (Quetiapine). I thought it would be fun to share with my readers.

It came from the United States District Court, Middle District of Florida, Orlando division in the matter of Seroquel products liability litigation, Case # 6:06-md-01769-ACC-DAB, on April 24, 2008.

It was a Q&A between a lawyer and the AZ executive who was involved in organizing the slides used in promotional talks given to physicians. It concerned the use of the term "unsurpassed" in slides used to market the drug.

Seroquel was one of the newer "atypical" antipsychotic medications. They were called that to distinguish them from the old, "typical" antipsychotics like Haldol. The old drugs were notorious for causing acute neurological side effects such as a Parkinson's disease-like tremors and muscle spasms (which can be easily countered with another class of drugs), as well as a long term one called tardive dyskinesia (TD) that could become permanent. 

To see what TD looks like, watch the Batman Movie The Dark Knight with Heath Ledger playing the Joker, who I guess was supposed to have been an ex mental patient, and was portrayed as having the mouth movements typical of TD.

The new '"atypical" drugs are much less likely to cause these neurological problems, but instead are far more likely to cause metabolic syndrome - weight gain, increased cholesterol, and even diabetes. (Recently released ones in the last few years are better on this score as well, but Seroquel is one of the worst offenders in this regard). Pick your poison. Atypicals have never been shown to be more effective than the typicals for the hallucinations and delusions characteristic of psychotic disorders.

In fact, AZ's own documents showed that the company analyzed 10 studies, and found that none of them showed that Seroquel was superior to any other antipsychotic drug.

So how did AZ spin this in its sales presentation to doctors? Their slides said the drug was "unsurpassed" in efficacy the treatment of schizophrenia. They found that this word was one that worked.

This is funny because there are two different definitions of "unsurpassed." The definition most people think of is "superior in achievement or excellence to any other." In other words, most people would think that the slide indicated that Seroquel was the most effective antipsychotic drug available.

The more literal definition, however, is "as good as or better than any other." This means that other drugs can be equally as good. Obviously, that wasn't the message that the slides were meant to convey to the doctors, but because the lesser known definition exists, this gave the company plausible deniability against the charge that it was making claims unsubstantiated by any research - even though that was the take home message most people would take home. Pretty sneaky!

The company man responded to questions about this with mental sommersaults, some of which - as my friend Peter Parry points out - are cringe-worthy. So here it is (minus some objections by the involved lawyers):

Q. Let me just read the conclusion to the jury and then ask you a question about it. "Conclusions. The intended claim of 'superiority versus Haloperidol' is highly unlikely using these data, however 'a claim of equivalence is not ruled out.' Did I read that correctly?

A. Yes, you did.

Q. Were you ever informed of that Technical Document No. 5 or its conclusions?

A. I have told you twice already no.

Q. Okay. Do you think you maybe should have been informed of this information before you Went around making claims of unsurpassed efficacy?

A. No, because I took my guidance from the head of clinical, the disclosure committee, and the SERM group. By the way, how is

equivalence different from unsurpassed?

Q. Do you really think you get to ask me questions? Is that what you think this process involves, that you get to ask me questions and I give you answers?

A: I'm trying to answer your question.

Q. Well, let me ask, since you asked me a question, let me ask you a

question: "Unsurpassed," "unsurpassed,"- what does that mean?

A. It means --

Q. Nobody is better; right?

A. It means equivalent.

Q. So if I really -- I'm trying to think of something. If I tell

somebody that I went to a track meet and I saw an athlete that has been

unsurpassed, I mean he was -- her, let's say her. Her ability to do the broad jump and the high jump and the relays were unsurpassed, and I was just so impressed and I go and tell you it was unsurpassed, you believe that means I'm saying she was equivalent to everybody else at the meet?

A. Possibly, yes. That's the correct grammar. Possibly, yes. She

was possibly better; she was possibly equivalent.

Q. And if I come home and --your child, you said, is 5 years old?

A. I have got two.

Q. How old are they? Mine are 22, 20, and 17. How old are yours?

A. 3 and 5.

Q. When your child comes home from school let's say from first grade

and says, "Daddy, I" -- well, I don't think first grade. And your child may be smart because you are smart. So let's just go to fifth grade. Go to

fifth grade. "Daddy, my grade in my English class was unsurpassed." What

are you going to say, "Congratulations.You made the same grade as everybody else"? Is that what you are telling this jury, is "unsurpassed" means the same?

A. Yes, it does, it means the same as or better. That's exactly what it means.

Q. So -- that's exactly what it means. So when AstraZeneca -- I'm glad to know this. This is interesting and I'm glad we're getting this out here. So when AstraZeneca made the claims of unsurpassed efficacy in regard to Seroquel, what they were meaning to say was, "We are just the same as everybody else"; is that right?

A. No, but I think we were incredibly careful with the use of grammar to depict what the clinical studies showed and concluded.

Q. You were trying to be tricky?

A. No. We were being incredibly precise and using the correct language. Of course, the language varied from country to country and label to label. The global impression from the safety and efficacy review group was our efficacy was unsurpassed.

Q. And you said in order to use that language, using your words, you were being incredibly careful; is that right?

A. No, I didn't. I said "incredibly precise."

Q. "Incredibly precise"; is that right?

A. Yes.

Q. All right. So if somebody understood the term "unsurpassed efficacy" to mean that you were better than others, they were just being incredibly what, dumb?

A. No. We would never make a claim without showing supporting documentation. So, for example, in the U.S., the doctor could read the label,he could read the FDA approval, and he could see the total span of facts.

Q. I'm not asking about the label and I'm not talking about the FDA

approval. I'm talking about what you've called at various points during this deposition a slogan or a phrase used in regard to Seroquel, and that was unsurpassed efficacy. Are you telling this jury honestly under oath that you were being so incredibly precise in the marketing of Seroquel that "unsurpassed efficacy" really meant that "We were the

same as everybody else"? Is that what you're telling this jury?

A. No. I'm saying that we chose that word to explain the fact that in the studies that we had done, our efficacy was unsurpassed when used in the right patients in the right dose in the right population. You can read a document like this without the context and it would be easy to be misunderstood about the total conclusion for what we say about Seroquel. 

Book Deal News FACTORY GHOST AKA That thing I wasnt supposed to write but did

This is a bit surreal.

In the fall of 2011, things were a bit hectic. I had the deal for SANCTUM, and I was smack-dab in the middle of writing the sequel. In September, I interrupted that project to write the partial for SCAN that went on submission in October.

I write to cope. And when I'm on sub, I cope hard. Once SCAN was with editors, I needed to stay busy, even though I knew that if it was acquired, I'd need to write the rest of the book on a very tight deadline. But for some reason, I didn't feel like immediately jumping back into Sanctum2 once I'd taken a break with it.

Aaaaand then I got an idea. Sneakily, guiltily, I wrote a few chapters. I sent them to Brigid Kemmerer, because she is very honest and frank (on top of being a brilliant writer), and I knew she'd slap me upside the head if I was getting involved in a project that was a total waste. But she got back to me quickly and basically said "GO GO GO!"

So I went went went, and three weeks later, FACTORY GHOST was finished. It's sort of like Phantom of the Opera meets Upton Sinclair's The Jungle, set in a fictional Asian society. Writing it was intense to say the least. But I'm *really* proud of it. And yesterday evening, this came out in the Publishers Weekly Children's Bookshelf:

Ruta Rimas at Margaret K. McElderry Books has acquired at auction Sarah Fine's Factory Ghost, a gothic YA novel about a 16-year-old girl who moves in with her father, the resident doctor for the town's slaughterhouse, and discovers that the myth of the factory ghost may not be a myth at all. Publication is set for winter 2014. Kathleen Ortiz of New Leaf Literary & Media did the two-book deal for North American rights.

Thank you, Brigid, for encouraging me to write this book even though the timing was all wrong. Thank you, Kathleen, for not freaking out (out loud, at least) when I told you I was writing another book instead of the books that were already under contract (and for supplying the color coded schedules to make sure I don't miss any of my deadlines. And for, you know, selling my books). Thank you, Ruta, as well as the entire McElderry team, for being so enthusiastic about this story.

And thank you, blog friends, for being part of this with me. I am so, so fortunate to be part of this community.

That Bushy Faced Devil Who Shares My Bed

Since my husband now lives in the attic, emerging only to take meals and refresh his glass of low-sodium V-8, he has grown a ferocious beard. The beard is larger than his whole head and exists, presumably, to scare off any intruders when he drops on them, catlike, from the spot he occupies in the eaves.

This is not my husband. My husband is hotter. But a beard does not look good even on this reasonably attractive fellow.

 

The beard is of the ilk that would cause Jeeves, Bertie Wooster's man, to discreetly place a razor at the side of the breakfast plate each morning with a poignant, meaningful "Sir" until the matter were dealt with appropriately. It has quite taken over my husband's dear face, such that I can see his glimmering, beady blue eyes winking through the coarse matting.

Some elements of the beard are asymmetrical and tufty.

I am in some ways responsible for the beard, for I am fond of a "rugged, manly look." I did not know that it would so quickly o'ertake his face! I did not know that it would grow, and grow, as if an angry marmot were ravishing his chin!

I have begun to fear that the beard has addled his normally sharp brains. For example, I often ask his advice on some of my writing projects. He usually responds with appropriate and kindly criticism. But not since The Beard hove on the scene and began, with its coiled tendrils, to tighten its grip on certain areas of the brain responsible for common sense and intelligence. Last night I asked him what he thought of something brilliant I had written, and his response was lukewarm.

"Really?" says I. "I thought it was rather clever!"

"You are wrong," says he.

"Am I?" says I. "You don't think it's prize-worthy prose?"

I heard a voice speaking out of the tufted mass of tangled hair, and it said something like: "No one will ever buy it. No one will ever read it. No one gives a shit about such topics!"

"I will no longer dedicate my book to you, then!" says I heatedly.

"Poo!" he snarked. "Don't, then!"

"I won't!" I cried. "And another thing, I am going to write rude things about you, and post them online!"

"Do your worst clangings and bangings and tippity-tappings!" he said, sounding and looking an awful lot like "Gurgi" from the Chronicles of Prydain.

His beard sharpened into steely points, and we were at an impasse. I have set traps for him, and they are baited with Bushmills whiskey and Guinness.

My Holiday Catalogue Gifts That Will Inspire Ire Spittle and Occasional Terror

It's a star. On top of a tree. This is why it qualifies for "Inventor's Corner." Because it's a star. On top of a tree! (They trademarked "menorahment" so don't you try to borrow it.)

This guy's nickname in high school was "The Slanket." He touched girls underneath big blankets then, too, but now the girls can't get out because his patented "The Slanket (R) Siamese" is actually like a big molesto-sack!

What's really in that bottle of "Go Away Gray"? Is it really "Go Away My Weak Flaccid Weiner"? Mmm, mmm, she seems to think so!

Well, you had me at "the secret is in the soft silicone poly magnetic feelers that soothingly manipulate..."

Auntie June in a Box; fits neatly under the bed for winter storage. Emerges fresh and lifelike!

Is the cat pooing, do we think, while this photograph was taken? Or tinkling? Or both? And of what is he thinking? Philosophy? The world economy? Gnawing on your nads? It is a subject of much debate among shoppers everywhere.

Yummy home-grown fungus in a box! I so can't wait to eat this.

Keep recalcitrant employees captive at their desks with the "shoe boot." No more two-hour lunch "hours" and gossip by the water cooler. Plus, they will have toned metatarsels.

He doesn't look bashful. He looks kill-ful! He's GOING TO FUCK UP YOUR SHIT! Happy holidays.

This is funniest when you're bald. In fact, it's a laugh a minute! Precisely one laugh per minute, until doomsday arrives and/or bald uncle Jimmy swings his golf club at your scampering rump.

Pills Are Not for Pre Schoolers by Marilyn Wedge The Crucial Questions That Most of Today’s Child Psychiatrists Never Ask

The theme of this blog, as well as of my last book, How Dysfunctional Families Spur Mental Disorders, is that family systems issues have been disappearing from psychiatry in favor of a disease model for everything by a combination of greedy pharmaceutical and managed care insurance companies, naïve and corrupt experts, twisted science, and desperate parents who want to believe that their children have a brain disease to avoid an overwhelming sense of guilt.

I’ve also written about some of the family systems ideas that are being neglected. But the question many readers may still have is: What do systems-oriented family therapists actually do? In an excellent new book, Pills Are Not for Pre-Schoolers: a Drug Free Approach to Troubled Kids, author and therapist Marilyn Wedge shows, with a series of excellent case examples, what can be done.  She demonstrates brilliantly how kids who might be labeled with serious mental illnesses (that they do not actually have) are, in fact, responding to trouble at home.

Marilyn Wedge

Some of the key points that she illustrates are:

• If a child acts violently angry, the purpose of this behavior is to deflect the anger that one parent is experiencing against the other. Violence is, therefore, usually a sign of parental discord. 
• 
  
• Kids hear and understand much more than we think. 

• A child will do anything to make his or her parents stop arguing.
• 
  
• Kids act out parental feelings that the parent can’t express. 
• 
  
• Young adults that refuse to grow up and move out are doing so in order to covertly give their parents who are not getting along a reason to stay together. 
• 
  
• A parent’s obsession with a child is often a substitute for intimacy in the parents’ marriage.         
• 
  
• The pain of one family member always affects all other family members.  
• 
  
• Sibling squabbles can reflect parental discord.

She explains how family and home problems become far less likely to be addressed once a child is called bipolar or ADHD. (Magazines – and some advice columnists - are at present labeling any sharp change in mood as a symptom of bipolar disorder).

Of course, even parents who are very much against the use of psychiatric medications are often very sensitive to the question of whether or not they are somehow to blame for the problems of their child.  So if a mental health professional does not know how to handle this sort of parental guilt, and furthermore does not even know what questions to ask to find out if there is any family discord, they are not going to hear about family problem - as I pointed out in a previous post, Don't Ask, Don't Tell.

Wedge shows clearly how this trap can be avoided.

A lot of child psychiatrists these days are so focused on “symptoms” that they miss the forest for the trees. They do not even try to find out what is going on behind the scenes, and they seem to have lost all understanding of what constitutes normal child reactions to family stress.  A clear case of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell."

Wedge discusses some very simple and very crucial questions mental health professionals need to ask both “problem” children and their parents that can often lead to a torrent of new information.

It is often necessary to interview children without parents in the room and vice versa.  Simple but potentially fruitful questions for children include:

• Who are you worried about more, your mother or your father? 
• 
  
• What makes you scared at night? 
• 
  
• What would things be like at home if you did not have this problem?

Questions to ask various family members, alone in combination:

• What was happening in the life of the family when the symptom began? 
• 
  
• What is the SECOND biggest problem in this family? 
• 
  
• Where and when does the problem NOT occur?  What is happening when the symptom is NOT?

The author goes on to illustrate several family psychotherapy techniques for inducing behavior change in family behavior, in clear and easily-understood language. Most of  these techniques come from a subschool of family systems therapy called strategic family therapy, whose originators include Jay Haley, his wife Chloe Madanes, and Mara Selvini Palazzoli.

My only quibbles with the book are minor.  She may promise a little bit more than systems therapists can deliver. Like many family systems therapists before her, the family members who populate her case examples all seem to be either highly motivated to follow her instructions, or if not, can easily be handled using with a few well-timed paradoxical therapy interventions.  She says she often cures a problem within seven sessions. While this can be the case, often it is not.  

Old habits are hard to break.  The TV show Supernanny clearly shows how almost all of the family members she sees revert to old behavior once the Supernanny leaves.  She leaves and comes back on purpose to deal with this phenomenon.

While the behavior of the children in her examples may be extreme, most of them come from families that have many strengths. I often see a much more disturbed set of patients: parents (I do not treat children and teens) who have almost no personal or family resources on which they can draw, and/or have significant personality problems themselves. The author also clearly states that none of the children in her case examples were abused or neglected.  I do not know how much experience she has with these other types of populations, but clearly they are far more difficult to treat, and there are a lot of them out there.

All in all, however, I highly recommend this book for those parents who actually want to solve their children’s problems, not just cover them up with drugs.

Well that was better wasnt it

wow, Wow, WOW! Oh my baby Jesus Dancing on Ice was INCREDIBLE! Easily the best TV show I've been to, and totes made up for Thursday's shenanigans...

Saturday night me and Mum spent half the night working out a route to Elstree...then another one...and another...and a fourth just in case. Oh yes we were PREPARED this time, overly some might say but at least this time we wouldn't be stranded in the middle of London.

With more than a few arrangements up our sleeves, we set off at 1pm and was there by 1.45pm, didn't get lost, even if we did have to go round a roundabout three times, DOESN'T COUNT. We parked opposite the studios and joined the end of a the very short queue, we just assumed it was the Dancing on Ice queue, there were no signs up saying it was and wasn't very obvious. However the family in front who seemed to know EVERYTHING about Dancing on Ice and skating in general (it sounded like they had a script about all they've done and seen, yawn, ready to tell anyone around who was listening...us) said it was, so we munched on sandwiches and @salihughes' birthday cake, nom, see told you we were prepared.

So an hour into this next TV drama things were going well, it was sunny, not raining, we were at the front of the queue and eating lunch. Marvellous. No, there is no BUT, it really WAS marvellous.

At 3.30pm my toes had once again frozen and were threatening to break off at any given moment, I even wore my uggs this time which turned out to be no help whatsoever, although for the two and a half hours we waited, I got incredibly distracted by a rather gorgeous looking man in front of us in the queue...kept me busy. Then the ticket guy, not Martin the very funny small camp gay, came out and sorted us out into priority and non-priority. Now up to this point we were content and everything was going swimmingly well...then this guy started pulling people out and started a new priority queue...a long one...100 people...oh shit. We already knew the studio was going to be smaller than expected and they would need to sort out the skaters' family and friends first, but no one warned us about PRIORITY TICKETS. Me and Mum quick glanced at horror at each other then went on to glare at all the priority snobs who were starting to get red wristbands. HOWEVER. I had my lucky bracelet on which is also red, a clear sign things were going to go well...right...yes right...no but again...we got wristbands! Only just though, as the family behind us got raffle tickets, which were to be drawn if there were seats available after us wristbanders had been seated. After kissing my wristband and clinging on to it for dear life, we were 'processed and fed through to the holding area' *tumbleweed* Yep, that's how they phrased it, we now seemed to be some sort of animal or other being, we felt like we were going to get gassed or something. Worrying.

ALAS NO, this 'holding area' was a hall filled with warmness, hot drinks and chairs...I didn't sit on them, oh no, I was sticking to the plan of being as close to the door as poss in order to run and grab good seats when we were called, genius. So while Mum spend 40mins at the end of the hot drinks line, what did I do? I'll give you three guesses. Of course I went over my contract on Twitter. Bring on my bill O2.

I heard up to "Would wristband numbers 100..." before I legged it to the door, they could have said "Go home you're all too ugly for this show" and would've sprinted through the gate to the studios. After passing the Big Brother portacabins where @jonalmond works (I was the only one jumping with excitement over them...not literally jumping over them ...) we were through a door leading right to the studio, WOAH it was TINY. We were given two seats and just watched the others come in, and not a lot of people followed us, then we looked round and saw that at least 80% of the seats had white paper saying reserved on them, we were LUCKY to get in! My lucky bracelet was clearly involved.

We didn't even have to wait a long time to see the slebs and family piling in, I kept a beady eye out for Danny's fam (who I know) and found them sitting right beside us! Wahay, obviously more help from the bracelet. But (yes NOW there's a but) then we heard the annoyingly distinctive voice of Andy...the effing warm up guy...thank God he wasn't in our view cos we would have leapt across that ice, strangled him, and given him a £90 bill for Friday morning's taxi *glares hard*. After the boring ever so familiar *rolls eyes* Vegas dance and adverts game (people around us gave us strange looks when we imitated what he was about to say) the show began! Live on ITV1...bloody brilliant.

Although before the show began we were introduced to the people who hold the show together, all the judges (I had to restrain Mum when Angela Rippon swanned past us in that dracula outfit) Torvill and Dean, and Phillip and Holly. Oh. My. Days. Holly Willoughby is absolutely GORGEOUS. I was so mesmerised when I first saw her. Her figure, her hair, her features and her dress were so stunning I would definitely turn lesbian for her. No joke. Her and Phillip walked past us a lot during the show and there were loud sighs coming from me and Mum, her for Phillip and me for Holly. I adore her and love her nearly as much as Davina McCall.

In the breaks the funniest thing I saw were the make up girls running on and tidying up how the judges looked. They put a ton of make up ON JASON GARDINER'S HEAD. HAHAHAHA! I have never seen a funnier sight. And although I missed the Baftas, the award for cutest child EVER goes to India, Gary Lucy's daughter. She is ADORABLE. Screamed for her Dad when she shouldn't have, kept silent when she should have, and held her I LOVE YOU DADDY sign upside down during the whole show. Brilliant.

The thing me and Mum were most interested about was what on earth we were going to do in the hour gap between the skating and the skate off? We already knew we got free doughnuts (I love Elstree), and I was half hoping they'd put Wild at Heart on the big screen. They didn't. Instead, all the skaters came over to their family...right next to us...and there were no barriers in front of us...so after a few awkward glances Mum grabbed me and pushed me over to Dean Gaffney and Michael Greco for a photo. I didn't complain. Nom.

Then we just kind of hung around for ages, watching all these slebs push past us, literally, and Sharron Davies is a GIANT. Jordan, Claire and her fiancé came over to chat and tell us how Danny was feeling. Considering he got 17.0 for the fifth week in a row, he wasn't his best but we all tried to cheer him up and he did, and went back out smiling. As the skate off started the tension was building dramatically, and the breaks in between each skater being put through seemed an age, we were up and down like yoyos cheering and clapping, but Danny's name still hadn't been called, and when Phillip went to a break, we were shitting it. And so were the family. When we were back live, I was shaking uncontrollably and when he finally said "....Danny & Frankie!" I SCREAMED and jumped like a loon. LUCKY BRACELET YOU LEGEND. See, red bracelet, red wristband, and what colour was Danny wearing? Red. ;)

After the whole saga was over, Claire ran down and pulled us past the ticket lady who was filing everybody out. A quick "They're with us!" got us through and we got photos with Danny and managed to congratulate him. MUM got a hug, I DIDN'T. *strops* And I look rather shocking in the photo. OH WELL.

And theeeen we got home at 11pm :) FABFABFABFABFABFAB! AGAINAGAINAGAINAGAIN! I love Elstree, roll on summer's Big Brother. X

It was a thing that happened

"Have you worn them in?" 


"...did you want to finish that or are you being purposefully elliptical?"


"I wish you wouldn't use such big words I don't understand."


"Worn them in what? A dress? A blizzard? A teenage mutant ninja turtle costume?"


"No, no, no. Have you worn them in and gotten USED to them? So they don't blister? You can't run with the Olympic Flame in unworn shoes."

I didn't know there were rules to this. I thought I could just wear my conver...shoe things that looked liked proper converses from New Look and be done with it. Surely that would be fine? They have a sole. They cover my feet. They have LACES. Shit gets real with laces.

I was in my uniform. In my trainers. Hair straightened within an inch of its sorry split-end life, and polos shoved down my trousers. Phone clutched. And still I didn't feel any sense of excitement or nervousness. The whole morning I'd spent in my pyjamas, feet up on the desk, watching the BBC live torch relay cam, trying to establish some sort of etiquette for what I was about to do. Do I wave? Do I hold it with two hands? Do I walk or run? I concluded that whatever happens, I was going to look like a prize twat. The only thing I knew I wanted to happen was for the crowd to sing Wings as I ra..jo..walk....moved my 300m. Likelihood? Minimal. Hope? Great. And that's all I had. Hope that somehow I knew what to bloody do at some point during the next 3 hours. And for the love of baby Pete and his family including pets, DO NOT DROP THE THING. DO. NOT. DROP. IT.


"Done any training?" another torchbearer asked me. Mum, dad, and Matt, all donned in red, white, and blue had dropped me at the Town Hall and now I was surrounded by organisers, the mayor, torchbearers, and the media. Lots of the media. I stuck to the wall and tweeted my way through the waiting, until HUMAN CONTACT WAS REQUIRED OF ME. It was downhill from here. Oh, oh wait no. No it wasn't. My 300m was all UPHILL, that's right. Of course. *I* had the uphill stint. Me. Only me. 


"..I ran up and down the stairs a few times this morning...two at a time." I said, with some conviction. 


"You're young! You don't need training. Here hold this." And a torch was thrust into my hands. One of the actual Olympic torches. I fumbled with my polos, lipgloss, and phone (essentials, don't tell me otherwise), as the torch tipped sideways and had to be grabbed to safety. 


"Oop, I'll just take that. We're going to have the briefing now, then some media photos, then we'll be on our way!" Organiser Northern Tom said. I liked Northern Tom. "But YOU will be in the middle holding the torch in all the photos!" Oh yay. Two hands, I repeated in my head. Hold the bloody thing with two hands.

At 5pm, one hour before my slot, we left on the torchbearer bus. Around 16 torchbearers, Northern Tom, and the driver. Just us. Until we left the car park and started the journey to the start of Ingrave/Brentwood's route. I was still glued to my phone, texting friends and family about where to wait, when I heard gasps from inside the bus, and gasps from outside too. Hundreds of people had already lined the streets. Hundreds of people with chairs, banners, bunting, cameras, friends, family, strangers, burger vans, music, MORE PEOPLE. I didn't understand. I didn't know Brentwood had so many people. And I was running in front of them. So I bent my feet forward, wearing my new trainers in.


"Louise, look. Look outside. The people. Look! There are so many and they're here to see US!" Leah's 16 and we stuck to each other the whole time. I was passing the torch to her and we went to the same school. We were the double act. Comedy required. 

It was only then when the adrenaline rushed to my feet, awakening them from their eternal slumber to think "...what the fuck is going on. Louise. Louise what are you doing. Why have we got energy. Louise. THINK ABOUT THIS.", and I found myself beaming and waving frantically to the now thousands of people. 50,000 to be exact. 50,000 people.

"So how did you get nominated, Louise?" someone behind asked. He was the oldest torchbearer, in his 70s, and had tears in his eyes the whole time.

"Erm. Well I didn't, really. I sort of got asked by Coca Cola over a year ago after I won this journalism-ish award with Channel 4. I have a blog and I want to help young people realise that they don't have to follow the crowd. It's silly really. Really cheesy. But I try to be funny and stupid so they know they can be themselves really and not take any shit." 

He didn't bat an eyelid at my language, and put a hand on my arm.

"You're amazing. That's brilliant. You're inspirational, you really are. Well done Louise."

And that was the first time I felt worth it. Felt like I deserved all of  *waves arms around* this. I gulped and said my thanks, before it was my turn to get dropped off.