They always say that character traits skip a generation and as I’m busy writing stuff about my own life, I was pondering what my grand-parents handed down to me.

It is no secret that I have little affinity with my paternal grandparents as I tend to think of my Dutch genes as little as possible. But this is not the entire truth. I’ve always liked my paternal grandfather – Pieter Warren – although it’s just a feeling I have about him as I was 3 years old when he died.

So what have I got from him? He was definitely creative and thought out-of-the-box. Also, he loved novelties – he was one of the first to drive a sports car in the backward village he lived in the 1920s and also one of the first to possess a film camera in the 1940s. In his spare time, he made moving metal toys, driven by electricity, sometimes entire mini-circuses and filmed them while they were in operation. So my granddad Pieter was an original man, albeit somewhat dreamy and prone to letting others tell him what to do. This is how he ended up behind bars after the Second World War for having sold the maps of the Scheldt dykes to the Germans. He was in essence just an apolitical dike grave, who very naively hung on to his wife’s strong apron strings – and beliefs. But this controversial grandfather also had class and distinction; he was a tall man with a genteel appearance. And he was a kind man. I recognise this tendency to dream, to do odd, creative things, to be too credulous, to let people walk over me, to be kind.

My paternal grandmother Albertina Femmetje Warren-Mennes is a bit of an enigma for me. I have never known her as she died five years before I was born exactly on the day of my birthday. Somehow, I’ve always thought of her as a mean character and she is definitely recognisable as Isobel Brenner in my upcoming thriller The Collaborator’s Ghost. A firm believer in the Third Reich, a manipulator, an overbearing person with strong likes and dislikes.

However, it’s just a hunch as I’ve never known her and my father used to talk about her with much respect. She was a lady, being proud of being addressed with Mrs, similar to the wives of the doctor, the mayor and the vicar. Just them in those days, the rest of them – even though married – were Miss So-and-so. Yes proud is definitely a word to describe her, firm, strong, unbending with a tragic last couple of years when she was stripped of all her luxury and standing.

I sometimes find the qualities of pride and silent, unbending faith in myself as well and even though her beliefs may have been despicable, I do acknowledge the tendency to stand firm for what I believe in even if the rest of the world tells me I’m at fault. I sure as hell do not hope to end like her, though!

So from these two very different characters, I have inherited a set of very contradictory good and bad points.

Over to my British grandparents, starting with my maternal grandfather David Ferguson. From all four, I’ve known him the longest as he died when I was 30. My grandad was a taciturn, close-mouthed ex-sailor with a couple of pet subjects, such as the world going-to-ruin-any-day-soon, the cricket results, the weather and the amount of dog pooh in today’s parks.

He never showed much emotion, never talked about his unusual youth, being brought up as his mother’s brother by his grand-parents. I was never really close to him, didn’t understand him and didn’t understand my mum favouring him over her mother, my beloved grandmother. But I can be damn taciturn as well, lack emotions when they’re needed and until now I haven’t talked much about my own wreck of an upbringing.

Finally, my grandmother, my protector, my Angel in the Heavens. Sadly, she died when I was ten years old but I think of her with so much warmth. If ever a funny, kind-hearted, spiritual, intelligent, strong female character walked this earth, it was my grandmother Gertrude Westcott-Ferguson. There is not a single photograph with the two of us in it, or I am in her lap, wrapped in her arms, tightly holding her hand. I dedicated my first book When The Ink Dries to her as she was an avid reader and would have been so proud of me. Every day I think of her, asking her to watch over me – which she does – and if I am a little bit like her, I’m a happy woman.

Of course, it wasn’t all roses in her life, her marriage was not the easiest of marriages and she never really had a career of her own – she wanted to be an opera singer but for a girl from the lower middle classes that was not done at the start of the 20th century. She certainly wasn’t happy in the later years of her life, overeating and getting health problems. She was lonely and couldn’t find an outlet for her artistic, brilliant mind and sparkling wit. How I recognise that in myself and the tendency for depressions.

I wish my grandma and I had had more time together because I’m sure I could have learnt so much from her. As it is, I cherish her genes and do my best to incorporate those from the other three grand-parents.

Today I had promised myself a No Judgment Day. I hate myself for often inwardly mocking others, whether it’s their hairdo, affectation or general countenance. It’s not that I find myself better than them and – to be honest – it only scratches the surface as I don’t really condemn their souls but I do easily find fault in little things and mannerisms.

This critical approach of others must originate in my upbringing. My father could be absolutely vitriolic when talking about others; there certainly was condemnation there! Anyway, it still runs in the family. My children are no saints either when it comes to discussing others. Often this leads to hilarious situations as all three of them are excellent at mimicking accents and gestures. When they get going, my tummy aches from laughing. Very tongue-in-cheek humour, I’m afraid. And it makes me wonder whether I’ve raised them properly?

So today I decided I would bite my tongue when I found myself judging. It so happened that I was on my own for most of the day but with the weather being excellent I was out-of-doors a lot and met a variety of people during cycling and walking. I was well-prepared to curb myself every time my sharp mental tongue wanted to clack.

But nothing of the sort happened. It wasn’t hard at all to accept everyone as they were today, even the baby next doors crying for hours was forgiven without any difficulty.

There was something much, much worse than judging others. I was constantly judging myself, going crazy in my negativity about myself. I managed to pin down most of the issues I had with myself and then accepted them gracefully: getting up too late to go to Church, my hair being greasy again, too lazy to clean the toilet, walking only a tiny round with my mother, drinking 2 cups of coffee directly after breakfast, etc. etc. but one criticism was persistent throughout the day, popping up time-and-time again: I am too fat, look at that belly, I have no self-discipline, I’m a gourmand, now go walk for one-and-a-half-hours to get rid of some of that surplus fat. On return going back to the mirror and looking at myself again from all sides, then on the scales. Bah! Stop it, Hannah! I am terrible when it comes to my figure. I find it almost impossible to accept the way I look.

So I will need many more No Judgement Days to reach a more positive opinion of myself and keep it. Yes, at times we are our own worst enemies.

It made me wonder: Are you also your meanest critic?

I’m going to do something revolutionary. I’m going to write a book in Dutch. Being half-Dutch and having lived here almost all my life, I’m sure you think that sounds like the least revolutionary thing I can do. But for me it is!

I used to write in Dutch until my early twenties, until that fatal mistake my father made (the subject and reason for this book) and my family and I were exposed to an on-going charade of shame & mortification. It made me shake off my Dutch-ness for good and from then on I only wrote in my Mother’s tongue. For fear anyone should compare my writing to his.

In the course of the years many have asked me why I didn’t write my side of the story as an answer to the publication of his private diaries – the one and only hit my father had as a writer – but until now I didn’t see any reason to pick up my Dutch pen.

Until now.

Things develop; life develops. And as usual a turn of events starts with an insignificant happening.

I’ve just returned from a short trip to the UK – my Motherland, my paradise. Oh, I am a totally different person when I am on my island, I thrive, I blossom, I laugh… to return to the other side of the cold North Sea dragging my feet behind me again, always homesick for Albion.

This week, I’ve asked myself why I am so angry with my lot (I have to work here and my beloved kids are in this country) and why – above all – I can’t write lately. What the blockage is, as large as the rock rolled before Jesus’s tomb. What is stopping me? I do want to embrace my Dutch-ness; I do believe in this country as well, its people have so many good qualities: openness, honesty, directness, multi-angularity. It is in my blood too and I realise that continuing to cultivate only my British-ness will keep me a torn person, misbalanced. Big UK side, small Dutch side.

But I am so angry. My father disgraced our family, because of him the whole language seems tainted. What am I to do? I’ve mulled this question over and over in my head (Honour thy father!) for more than three decades. Now I see only one way out: I will use my anger as fuel for creativity. That is – after all – the only right use for this fiery, fierce emotion.

So I’m writing my side of the story, in Dutch. God help (& save) me!

I will keep you updated on the progress and now and then translate snippets into English, still the only true language for me to express myself in. Nevertheless, I’ll try to make My Answer as grimless and brimming as possible

It has been a while since I wrote my last blog and I apologise for that. We have been having another tough time with signals that my daughter’s tumour had returned and – as a result – I just didn’t have the energy or the strength to write much and keep up my blog and my social media contacts.

We don’t know where we stand right now concerning my daughter’s health but life goes on, hers and mine. Thank God for that! But we are extremely aware now that insecurity is the fundamental on which our life is based. With this rare form of cancer – Klatskin- we don’t know where we’re heading, nor when or if will come back and in which form.

So we cope on a day-to-day basis. And I pluck up my courage and return to writing.

To bring some positivity into my barren existence, I’ve made a list of 100 things I love greatly. Sharing them with you might give you a good idea who I am. I can recommend everyone to make such a list. The spin-off is twofold. Firstly, rereading your treasured items never fails to lift your mood and secondly you realise you could jot down another 1,000 things when you get going.

So here is my list:

1. Fresh laundry
2. Schubert’s “Ave Maria”
3. My cherry tree in full bloom
4. The moments after waking from a restful sleep
5. Downton Abbey
6. Staring out of the window while I think
7. The hugs my kids give their old ma
8. Bird songs in spring
9. Bare feet on soft, wet grass
10. A hot bath
11. Writing, whenever, wherever, whatever
12. Strong coffee with cream
13. The rhythm of walking
14. Standing on my head (the easy way)
15. Taking care of potted flowers
16. Macadamia nuts
17. Lying in the sunshine (in small doses)
18. Listening to my clock tick
19. Cream sherry
20. Breathing
21. Being with real friends
22. A beautician treatment
23. Eggs, hard-boiled, omelet
24. The BBC series Lark Rise to Candleford
25. Social media contacts
26. Driving my car
27. Strong tea with milk
28. Watch birds fly and settle
29. Thick butter on toast
30. Authenticity
31. Tulips
32. Being in the UK
33. Going to the hairdresser’s
34. Speak English
35. Raisins
36. Wearing high-heels
37. Being in love
38. Praying
39. Being touched by music
40. Sitting in an outdoor café
41. The taste and texture of shrimps
42. Being absorbed in reading
43. Watch beautiful people
44. Dream of success
45. Feeling my body stretch during Yoga
46. Orange juice with a hint of mango
47. Swimming in cool water
48. Listen to children’s voice at the seaside in summer
49. Stroke the cat’s soft fur
50.  Read a women’s magazine
51. Home-made cakes and pastries
52. Being slim and well-dressed
53. Go to a famous museum
54. Feeling enthusiastic about an idea or plan
55. Be at peace with myself
56. Being instructed and inspired
57. My Yoga institute
58. Salads with avocado and a raspberry dressing
59. Cooking lavish meals for family and friends
60. Sparkling water with a squeeze of fresh lemon
61. Meditate at sun rise
62. Cheese (many varieties)
63. Sitting in a clean house
64. Watch the flames of a wood fire
65. The idea of travelling
66. Breakfast
67. My salary in my bank account
68. St. Dafour jams
69. Going to the sauna
70. Watching (old) photographs of my family
71. The scent of hawthorn and lilac in the evening
72. A huge bouquet of roses
73. Unwrapping a gift
74. The heavy scent of ozone after a summer’s shower
75. Listening to the readings and sermon in Church
76. Being enveloped by silence
77. Having plenty of time
78. Funny, little dogs, preferably white
79. Olive oil
80. Lipstick
81. People being happy
82. Beautiful old age
83. History (human)
84. Seeing my children develop
85. Feeling part of a group
86. Energy/energetic
87. Baked potatoes with sour cream and chives
88. New clothes
89. Butterflies and dragonflies
90. Coaching international students
91. Coming home after an exhausting day
92. The idea of a great partnership with a man
93. Daydreaming about the world (and me)
94. Being nice to people
95. A candle lit room
96. Beautiful nails
97. Working on the computer
98. Old hand-made lace
99. Sunlight and shadows playing on a mountain ridge
100. Being content with myself.

Trying to get my writing juices going again, I am “doing” Julia Cameron’s The Right To Write, an Invitation and Initiation into the Writing Life. Every chapter has a specific writing assignment and I so enjoyed the so-called “Bad Writing tool” that I’d like to share its results with you.

The first step of the Bad Writing tool was to snip out ten stories that struck you in various tabloids, for example an ESP story, a money story, or a story of murder and mayhem. It was interesting to see if there were any common denominators in the selected stories. Were they upbeat, downbeat, weird, kinky, heartwarming, etc.? Ahem, I tend to like weird, tongue-in-cheek stories (like the one below).

The second step was to set aside 30 minutes and write a story in longhand as fast as you could. No checking, just writing. The idea was to write your own tabloid story but I twisted the assignment around a little and just wrote a story freely based on one of my clippings, fully indulging in “bad writing”. So it has been written explicitly boldly and badly for the reason of not seeking perfection.

The Wife

Estella tucked an unruly auburn curl behind her ear while gazing at herself in the mirror. The angry look in her hazel eyes almost jumped at her.

“Gosh I hate her, I hate her!” She confided to her reflection, “Bella may well say I have no foot to stand on, well, fuck you Bella, the bitch irritates me from here to Tokyo and I may hate her as much as I like!”

Bella, schoolmistress Bella, was bound to dislike the current relationship her best friend Estella was having with Giovanni. Not because of his extravagant good looks or his fat wallet, not because he was ill-mannered or too old for 32 year-old Estella, not because he had any addictions or kinky wishes in the bedroom, no, he was wrong for her because he was MARRIED, with two young kids in tow.

“But everyone knows he hardly ever sees his wife as she’s always in Milan or New York, being the fashion editor for Vogue. Is a man not entitled to some genuine fun and warmth?” Estella sighed, tying her abundant curls together with an elastic band and getting up from the stool in front of the ivory-coloured dressing table. With a smooth gesture the silk dressing gown slipped from her shoulders. Nude, but for a pair of pink velvet slippers, she made her way to the bathroom. Reluctantly. Here there was no escape from the source of her anger. How she hated Giovanni’s wife Mathilde! Biting her lip, she skipped into the shower, deliberately avoiding her gaze of darting to the object of her scorn.

Giovanni would be there in 15 minutes so she had to hurry. She wanted to present herself beautiful and smiling when he came in. Opening the tap she inhaled the scent of his Dior Homme after-shave that still permeated the glass cabin. Her thoughts drifted to the lustrous caresses he had given her right here only yesterday night, her firm buttocks pressed against the wet panel, his kisses hot and demanding, so much lust and energy. She sighed again and tried to ban all thoughts of Mathilde from her mind, only focus on her and Giovanni. How they would make love before going out to dine at Gastons, getting tipsy on champagne and oysters, before coming back to the condo for more delightful passion.

“I am SUCH a lucky girl!” Estella said to herself aloud, “if only there would be no signs of the lawful wife here. It is just not fair. Oh, here I go again!” the well-shaped brunette wailed, “I seem almost obsessed with the wife. It stops me from enjoying Giovanni. Oh, I hate her, I hate her!”

Estella stepped out of the shower, still not allowing herself to look at “the thing”. But when she was dry and ready to get dressed, she couldn’t help it anymore. There was a magnetism in the thing stronger than her own will. “It” was a quite innocent looking blue-and-white electric toothbrush on its stand. The moment her eyes zoomed in on it, Estella felt her anger getting out of control. Before she knew it, she flung the thing against the mirror that instantly cracked but didn’t even leave a dent on the plastic object itself. She stood with the toothbrush in her hand again, ready to smash it against the mirror one more time when she heard the key in the door and Giovanni’s sonorous voice calling her:

“My doll, are you there? Estella baby, where are you? Do I have to come and search for you? Is that the game today? You know what I will do when I find you, don’t you, my naughty princess? Doll, my doll, where are you hidden?”

Estella looked at herself in the cracked mirror with Mathilde’s toothbrush in her hand, big tears started pouring over her beautiful cheekbones. Giovanni was with her in seconds, gazing at her in astonishment.

“What is it, my doll? What is wrong? What are you doing with M’s toothbrush, looking so forlorn? And what happened to the mirror?”

“Oh Gio,”Estella sobbed, dropping the toothbrush in the washbasin and falling into his arms, ‘I can’t stand it anymore, having your wife’s stuff lying around here!”

“But doll, this is Mathilde’s house too. You can’t expect her to remove all her belongings from our holiday home? She has no idea about us.” Giovanni looked genuinely surprised.

“I know, I know,” Estella sniffed against his majestic chest, “But oh I do wish she and her damned toothbrush didn’t exist!”

“I understand that honey but she does exist and there is nothing we can do about that, now can we? So dry your tears and….”

They kissed.

I was taking a walk after work in the first spring sun last week when I felt a pair of eyes staring at me from the meadow. I looked up and saw it was one of the smaller sheep, a lady sheep, the same I had been chatting to a few days before. She stared at me while the others around her kept grazing or stretched out in the first weak sun rays, happily ignoring me.

“Ah you,” escaped my mouth before I could help it, “how are you today, Dolly? You’re a sweet one!” The sweet one didn’t move, just kept her eyes fixed on me, even stopped chewing the fresh greens between her teeth. For a split second the funny notion crossed my mind that this sheep knew exactly who I was; that she saw the real me, stripped from my exterior wear, my ego-related weaponry, my important thoughts and mighty resolutions that always follow me on my walks. All the useful chores I would carry out the moment I crossed the threshold of my home again. Ha! Everything stopped there and then.

Dolly made me ponder myself for a short while and I must say it felt good how one innocent sheep just standing there in the late afternoon sun was able to hold up a clear mirror that reflected all the loveliness, care and goodness in my soul, which I know is there but which usually gets snowed under by the important thoughts.

Now and then, in life you can also come across another human being who has that same effect on you: someone who suddenly sees into the brilliance of your soul and for a split-second make you realise what this life is all about. Before they get off at the next tube station and you’re on your own again.

But even if it doesn’t last: you never forget you were briefly seen as you really are. It puts the important thoughts into perspective.

Anyway, I will continue to do polls on my author page as I like to get feedback on questions that run through my often overactive brains. A new one will be up soon, so stay tuned!

Here are the results of the poll: What are the pros and cons of regularly adding writing-related posts to your blog?

Very time-consuming, just a lot of work for very few readers                                                  7

I don’t write blog posts that regularly                                                                                       5

I have been writing more blog posts lately and hope to do so more often                               3

I think it’s essential                                                                                                                  2

I only started my blog recently                                                                                                1

It brings interesting traffic to my blog                                                                                      1

I don’t have a blog                                                                                                                   2

Mmm… let us see. Not much enthusiasm for blogging here,I dare say. And a overall negative approach to the whole venture. Lots of work with little outcome seems to be the general opinion. Is this true? Please say no. Ah well… I for one will continue to write here on this page though my blogs are often also non-writing related general snippets that cross my mind.

I hope you will continue to drop by and leave your comments. You see, I was the one admitting it brings interesting traffic to my blog!

So is this the same for writing-related blogs?

When we see with what precision and skill these folks approach their anvil, I have to admit I’m nowhere and should seriously consider giving up blogging all together. One of the first mistakes I make when writing a new post is tackling it as if it has to be preserved for posterity, quite similar to writing a novel. Blog posts are by definition meant to be read once and disposed of directly afterwards. Of course, the writing has to be crisp and clean and the words need to give off the whiff of an opinion but if we keep in the back of our minds that they’re usually read with one eye on the News, or Facebook, or that lovely blond passing by in the street, we might get into the right gear. Book reading is quite another matter, there is stillness in the room, you don’t hear the sparrows twitter in the oak tree outside and you get the fright of your life when the doorbell rings the moment the fragile heroine is stalked by that pockmarked villain and might be killed by him in the most atrocious way. Ah yes … that type of writing is intended to leave a lasting impression on your soul but not this blog!

Still I want to learn to become a successful writing-related blogger and have decided I will study the subject to some extent. Can anyone recommend useful background material?

Meanwhile I’ve asked my friends what they think of blogging (pros and cons) on my FB Author Fan page. I would be delighted if you filled in the poll as well. Feel free to add more options.

More on this subject when I have processed your answers.

What do you do when your sales slacken and your book(s) slip down the Amazon ranks?

It is an understatement to state that the marketing side usually is not the writer’s forte. In the old days publishers were responsible for all these matters after the creative process was finished so the sensitive, creative writer’s soul was not exposed to any of this ‘bureaucratic nonsense.’

Nowadays with writers self publishing their work or signing contracts with Indie publishing houses, these vulnerable creatures are confronted with the horrible, real world of promotion and sales. This may sound as an exaggeration but it is in fact how I feel. I am simply not good at promotion and fear I never will be and then when the sales slacken – as they do – my self-confidence in my skills drops at the same rate as the sales and I worry and wonder about the thing I love above all: writing books.

Shall I abandon this folly, believing I have stories to tell that people actually want to read? Shall I return to being a non-writer? Of course not but it does seem contradictory to bring out yet another brainchild when the first one didn’t become a huge success. I mean: why bring out another toilet pot when your first one decorated with what you thought were the most enchanting flowers and birds didn’t sell? No marketeer would advise you to run the risk and do it again, now would he?

Still, if you read the stats of the author poll I held on my FB Author page, you will see that that is exactly what writers do: they refuse to let non-readers grind them down and set off cheerfully writing another book. Stubborn? Definitely! Wise? Perhaps…

So here are the answers:

Work on my next book like crazy                                                               11

Too busy working on my next book to worry about it                                11

I run a free promo on amazon  (only for self-published)                             5

Eat chocolate                                                                                              4  

Create new tweets and add fresh content to social media sites                   4

SALES? What are SALES? Am I missing something                                    3

Spams everyone with the links to their books                                              3

Ask for interviews and blog tours                                                               3

Resign myself to being a cult writer who’ll only be appreciated after I’m dead 2

Bury my head in the pillow and slip deeper under the duvet                          2

Change my avatar into my cat’s                                                                     1

Join a blog hop                                                                                            1

Advertise my book on paid genre sites                                                      1

Panic, try to analyse why and then (hopefully) do something about it        1

So the trend is clear, huh? We’re all stubborn! Some explanatory comments were given:

Gerry McCullough: I really wish I knew the best answer to this, Hannah! I’ve ticked at least 4 boxes!

Vivienne Tufnell: Look at the bigger picture of seasonal variations, and of the flux of finance. In the UK< everyone is broke, all got big bills after Christmas, fuel bills because of the snow, and it’s still a week to pay day. Books are luxuries, when you’re struggling to pay bills and put food on the table, so it’s one of the things that get cut first. And yes, working on getting another book out is always good because a) it distracts and b) it’s seen that books sell more books. Apparently the magic figure is about 10 books available, and the sales feed the others.

John Holt: Difficult to say really – I have four books currently available. If one suddenly stopped selling I would try to work out why. Was it a seasonal thing? But if the other three were still doing Ok then that argument wouldn’t apply. Perhaps it had already sold in great numbers (I wish) and everyone had now purchased it. On the other hand if all four were slipping then I would have to try to work out why. Are sales for other authors slipping. Finally like other self-published indie authors I have to do all my own publicity and promotion, so I would have to see if there was more I could do.

C Reg Jones: It’s my first book, I’m an absolute nobody who has no way of promoting my work outside of FB, Twitter and Amazon, so I expect it not to sell, lol. That, on top of the fact that horror never sells as well as romance or crime sort of keep my downloads down to about 80 – 110 a month.

Kristen Stone: If we had the answer to this Hannah, we would all be in the top 100. Remember there are something like half a million authors on Amazon all competing for sales. What really annoys me is seeing bad books do well and good books falter. But that’s the way the cookie crumbles.

Currently #FREE today on all Amazons: When The Ink Dries  so grab your copy. Ending with some much-needed promotion seemed like a jolly good idea.

Please burn a candle for my family and for all the patients and their families in the entire world. If you’re one of the lucky ones who hasn’t – yet – had to deal with this monster yourself or in your close circles, you may not grasp the importance of this message. I know I didn’t until my daughter was diagnosed with bile duct cancer but we now know that cancer = hell on earth. So please say a prayer, burn a candle, take a moment today to think of all the people – millions – who are facing this deep suffering with all its uncertainties, pain, mutilations and still HOPE TO LIVE.