Latest articles by Katy Regan
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How We Met…..What about you?HOW WE MET is published TOMORROW! And I am officially EXCITED.
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Me on book battiness, books and my new book….. and did I say books?Happy New Year everyone! I am quite aware that my posts of late have been very much book and writing-related. That is because I am somewhat of a one trick pony of late, literally doing nothing much else! Fergus said to me the other day, mum, you know when you wrote that book about the bed? (He means One Thing Led to Another, which had a couple in bed together on the cover….) You were much more ‘efficient’ when you wrote that book….Mmm, he’s probably right, I am sure I didn’t make quite such a meal of writing that one ! Or maybe it was just that he was younger, so didn’t notice..
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Writing Gremlins...It seems even the masters have to suffer themMy mum called me up the other day, and rather than inform me of the death of someone I’ve never even heard of (you DO know her, his niece was in your class at primary school….), she said: “I’m just ringing to check if you’d seen that programme about Ian Rankin? I thought you’d think it was interesting.”
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“Is there anything in the freezer?” And other inane questions of cohabitationDear Readers, I write to you from my brand new writing garret. For all my shedding-the-shed sob stories, I actually rather love it up here. It’s very conducive to writing (and also having a brief kip, on the bed that’s here). Soooo peaceful. This is my new writer’s view.
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Crash Course in DrivingWhere’s that ‘crash’ section of Tricolore when you need it? Last week I attended a Speed Awareness course ( I am all too aware of the fact that if there were ever a comment that warranted bad jokes about drugs / female drivers / tardiness / lack of punctuality then that comment may well be it. Control yourselves…!)
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“Dumping by text” my son now tells me, “is the worst thing you can do.”Fergus is seven and a half now. Every time he’s running around in his pants, which is pretty much all the time, I look at his long, lithe limbs and the way his shoulders are (I swear) already broadening like a man, and I feel that little stab of pain: he’s my only one and he’s not my baby anymore!! (He’s like mother, I am seven, I haven’t been a baby for several years. Stop squashing my head against the sofa as you try to kiss me.)
