A few weeks ago, after months if not years of procrastination, I felt I ready to write my first script. I was hoping it would be a comedy but it’s really a drama. In fact the process has become a drama in itself.

It was surprisingly easy to get it all going, I managed to rack up several thousand words without hardly drawing breath. I felt elated – over the moon even.

Over the period of a few days I kept thinking about the plot and then, in one sitting, wrote several thousand words more and a covering letter to the BBC Writersroom. Phew! All done and dusted, or so I thought.

The next day I showed it to someone who told me the it wasn’t formatted properly so would go straight in the bin. Not what I wanted to hear but actually brilliant advice – I didn’t want to fall at the first hurdle, it was back to the drawing board.

So being me, I taught myself how to edit a script and make it look like the real thing. And it does – that in itself felt like a real achievement, but the process is lengthy.

In my book, if you can teach yourself the ins and outs of blogging, it’s pretty easy to format a script but it’s bloody tedious work and a very deconstructing process. It was hard, my editorial style was reinvented as a series of shots, cut tos, scenes and locations – a whole new way of presenting words and speech. It felt like learning a new language.

After a gut wrenchingly boring week or two I did most of it and then let myself have a little break to clear my head.

When I returned to the story, I felt like I was meeting up with friends, the characters in my little drama were clamouring for attention. I had to reconfigure things slightly, and then yesterday, I felt triumphant again as I completed the final draft. It was done, I’d completed the process, or so I thought.

For a blogger, script writing feels very old school. I had to print it all off and over 70 pages pootled their way out of the printer, creating a big wad of paper – it felt substantial and important – evidence of my creative endeavour, a veritable brick sat in front of me. It’s still clunky and inelegant though.

And then I penned the begging to be read covering letter and set out my stall as to how this wonderful story would evolve and establish itself as a series. It felt strange. Who was I talking to, who would be reading this, how could I articulate my thoughts in this way? I gave it a go.

Then I read the terms and conditons of submitting a script and the process it goes through. Mine is 1 of 10,000 that gets received every year. That’s about 300 a day. Blimey.

All the scripts get looked at and receive an acknowledgement. But if the reader doesn’t get through the first 10 pages without dozing off, that’s it, game over.

So having gone to the expense and drama of sending my packaged script from one postcode to another – I could probably have walked it over to be honest but I felt a bit sick and nervous about the whole thing – I felt a bit sad to let it go off into the wilderness and wave it off.

When I got home, I thought it would make sense to read the first ten pages with fresh eyes and a new perspective. My first thoughts were ‘Shit, bugger, bugger’ in that order, followed by an overwhelming urge to run and hide under the bed. How could I possibly expect anyone to read my work and find it interesting? I felt a bit foolish and humbled by seeking an opinion and a decision on this outpouring.

I’ve been really inspired and excited working on this new outlet for my writing, I face rejection square in the face now. What is the point? Why did I bother? I just don’t know, but I did it.

And so it goes. The experience of writing in itself is enough for me, it’s what I do, but I just can’t predict the consequences. Interestingly, I had the exact same feeling when I submitted a post for a carnival in the early days of blogging -I was in the throes of self indignation once I’d sent it off. It sounds bonkers but it’s just the way I’m built. (And I hope I’m not alone in feeling that way!)

So there it is. I know my offering has just been added to the pile and will be sitting under several hundred other scripts by the end of tomorow. It’s in the lap of the gods, I’ve got no control over the stack of paper I’ve kissed goodbye to. But I wrote it. I’ve put my head above the parapet and done something creative.

That’s why I’ll never stop writing.

In the meantime, while I await my fate, I’m already working out what’s going to happen in episode two and will pick it all up again next week…

I’m quite tempted to post it on a blog to be honest and get a round of response from my readers.

Watch this space for further developments!

Just post this on your twitter feed and ask for a retweet – we’ve had a few already and word is spreading

#bloggersforpakistan raise money for flood disaster & donate to DEC (Disasters Emergency Committee) here http://www.dec.org.uk/ pls RT

The DEC has around thirteen or so charities on the committee.

For those of you who know the book you might find this picture resonates with it and it’s yet another one I took in the Sahara.  This time it’s daybreak and even though the photo is of my daughter, the cartoon like quality echoes the book so well that I was quite taken aback when I first viewed the images after taking them.  I’ve toned down the colour to look more like an inkwash and I love the long shadows.

I love the the book, it’s so abstract and random; waking up in the desert was much the same. It was as if we were living on a distant moon without a hint of civilisation in sight.

While The Little Prince is somewhat of a morality tale, I’m more taken with the story of the writer.  I first discovered the book 20 or so years ago and forgot about it and then about 12 years ago, when I flew into St Etienne de St Exupéry airport in France which was a tiny place then, almost a hangar, I was reminded of it again. Exupéry wrote only one book and literally flew off into the sunset never to been seen again.

Robert Pattinson and Kirsten Stewart are the new Johnny Depp and Winona Ryder; both fascinating, beautiful and ethereal creatures to watch on screen. It was almost reminiscent of the Tim Burton film Edward Scissorhands in its mood. Out of the three films, Eclipse is the funniest – come to think of it, wouldn’t it be great if Tim Burton directed the fourth one?

Of course, I’m going to have to watch all three films again and buy the books; well at least I can say I’ve vetted them all for my daughter so she doesn’t get scared half to death by it eh?

MM: Why do you like Penguins so much?
LM: We really like the idea that Penguins live in community groups and have to work together in order to get things done, be safe and thrive.

MM: Why did you call it club Penguin?
LM: Penguins belong to community groups, which is a bit like what we humans would refer to as a club, so the name Club Penguin was born.

MM: Why do you have to become a member to do and buy stuff?
LM: All players can create a penguin, explore, meet friends, play games and go to parties. You don’t have to be a member. Members do have more opportunities to buy things to decorate their igloos and accessorise their Penguins but we make sure there are free items for non members and plenty of games and activities to enjoy.

The money we make from memberships helps to make sure we can keep Club Penguin up and running. We have big teams that offer support and keep Club Penguin safe for everyone. The membership money also means that we don’t have to take money from advertisers. It’s important to us that Club Penguin stays advert free.

MM: I was a secret agent and I still am, but I can’t do the missions anymore, why is that?
LM: It sounds to me like you might need to complete the EPF test in the Everyday Phoning Facility so you can access the EPF Command room. From here you can play the old PSA missions and access the new EPF Field Ops.

If you have any more problems drop us an email here

MM: Why has the pod disappeared in the corner? (the one onscreen)
LM: If the pod you are referring to is the spy phone then this has recently been updated for the newer EPF spy phone! This new gadget has a new updated touch screen interface and advanced teleportation technology. This piece of equipment should be in any top agent’s inventory! If you can’t see the new spy phone on your screen, then you must complete your EPF training.

To become an Elite Agent, you need to wait for an invitation from the EPF. They’ll send you one after you’ve been around the island for a little while. Then just follow the instructions on the invitation. You can also click on the big yellow “M” badge in the right hand corner of Club Penguin for more information on how to report rule breakers.

Keep your penguin peepers peeled.

MM: How do I send postcards because it doesn’t work?
LM: You can use Penguin Mail to send postcards to your friends in Club Penguin. Just access your inbox by clicking on the envelope icon at the top left of your screen. To send a postcard, open the postcard catalog, select a buddy and the postcard you want to send. Preview the postcard and then click yes to send. Postcards cost 10 coins to send.

MM: How do I ask someone if they want to be my buddy?
LM: If you have made a new friend, click on the Penguin you have been chatting to and then click on the smiley face on their profile page. This sends a buddy request to your new friend.

MM: My friend has the DS game and it’s so different to the one on the computer? I thought it was that but on the DS.
LM: The DS game is inspired by Club Penguin but the entire virtual world is not available through the DS. We’ve created some new games and challenges especially for the DS, but you can also discover codes that will unlock bonus items in the Club Penguin virtual world.

And let me know in the comments sectionif you have a fan in your household as I’ve got one of these goodies to give away, a Club Penguin bundle which includes a DS Game. Happy days all round.

I confess that on occasion, I’ve imagined giant Michelin Man style Dr Who baddies crafted in metallic silver suits with high pitched voices charging through London, armed with iPads shouting; Blog Post! Twitter! Bloggity-dash-dot-com.  Well, sorry, I shouldn’t have shared that last bit, but you get the gist.

So roll on July 3 2010 and the big day had finally arrived.

Honestly, I had no idea what to expect; well, maybe a lots of birkenstocks and maxi dresses due to the gossiping taking place on twitter, and more than a few friendly faces congregating in a London hotel for the conference.  But still, it wasn’t forming proper shapes in my brain, I couldn’t yet see what form it was all going to take.

I arrived at the Ibis on Lillie Road.  It was crazy hot weather even at 10 am-ish so I was craving the comforts of air con.  Wanting to avoid the rush, I missed the first bit and walked in to the reception to pick up my ticket.  There were friendly hellos.  And then I wandered into the hall to drink coffee and lots of it.

To say I was suprised at the vision in front of me was an understatement; Mummy bloggers were everywhere and had taken over the venue big style for the day, and with hardly a man in sight it was quite bizarre. If google maps had their cameras out that day there would have been a great big sign for femininity above SW6, rather like the one below.

Even the men’s toilets had been sequestered to accommodate the crowd – Duchamp would have quivered at this derivative of his iconic installation. Nicely done though isn’t it?  I couldn’t help myself and had to take a photo.

I was liveblogging from the first session which was great.  Lots of seriousness offset with giggles and crying babes in arms wanting to get in on the act. There was definitely a feeling of excitement and warmth inside that cool hall.

It was great to see so many bloggers; there was lots of hot gossip, catching up, pointing out ‘She’s the one that wrote…’ to each other and meeting people for the first time who I’ve known online for an age.

What struck me too was that throughout the last couple of years, there’ve been a number of bloggers going through pregnancies and there were babies now, WAHM BAHM’s has grown, Glowstars has given birth, it all moves on so quickly.

There was a keynote, a crowdsourced keynote, just the term sounds so clever, so cyber and so unMummyish, that I thought I’d walked into a dot com camp or hackday.  That was until the stories came tumbling out from nervous speakers who were more than a little overwhelmed by being on stage and speaking into a microphone under bright lights.

When Sandy Calico read out her post, she had to catch her breath a few times, and the rest of us sat and listened in awe.  Eyes glistened, we all drooled tears and grasped at the table napkins to hastily wipe them away.  I wasn’t going to cry, I thought, I’ll sit here and tough it out.  But I couldn’t.  I’m just a human after all.  Not a real cyber Mummy – flesh and blood and just one of the girls too. I was not alone, I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house.

Carol read out her story and I was stunned about how brave she was to have survived it, and lived well, and stood before us to tell her tale, but it was The Madhouse that made me want to sit under the table and weep as she recounted her close encounter with death.  It was a humbling experience and I had a slow dawn, a realisation and a new feeling about this closeness and intimacy that we all share through our writing.  It wasn’t about being a blogger, or a Mum, it was about sharing womanhood, simple, true and clear.

It was an amazing experience – and of course, there was the next generation sleeping through it all just behind me – what a doll isn’t she?

We’ve just returned from France. Learning to speak like a local has been part of the journey, well, supposedly it has. In fact, it’s been more of a revelation about my colourful use of language.

We arrived at the Eurostar station and got our luggage out of the train and found our taxi. It was a really early morning jaunt so I was not up for a full on conversation in another language, but I tried to make an effort in between dozing.

When we arrived, I thanked the driver and we walked away with our stuff, all excitement, apprehension and non stop chattering, as you do. Miniminx is all ears when we are abroad, she’s learning French and I can just about get by. If she hears me say something new she wants to know what it is and if she meets someone her age she always wants tips on what to say.

‘Mum – what’s the word for right and what’s the word for left again?’

‘A droit and a gauche.’

‘Oh, that’s it. Droit. Dwot, dwoit, duwat.’ She laughs as she rolls the word around her mouth like a gob stopper. ‘It sounds like….’

‘Like droit darling. It’s spelt; D-r-o-i-t. But you don’t really pronounce the ‘r’.’

‘Oh, I thought it was dwat – spelt D-w-a-t. You know, like that word…’ she turns to me and sniggers, ‘You know that word you sometimes say.’

‘What word….Dwat? In French?’ She notices the flicker of recognition on my face, then the widening of eyes as I’m reminded of yet another of my potty mouthed aberrations emerges as she replies.

‘No, in English Mum, it’s the word that begins with ‘T’.’

‘Oh. Oh dear.’

I look away and mumble ‘Shit’ under my breath. I would really like to think that my daughter views me on a higher level than someone that calls all French cab drivers a tw*t.

This magazine wants everyone single one of us lovely ladies to get involved with it and is calling on all women – whatever your size, shape, height, or age to join in. When I posted about this on my facebook page, a friend of mine piped up ‘What do you mean? Real women? That’s a bit weird!’ but it’s not in the least and I replied ‘Real means not models or actresses – everyday, real life women’. Now I’m not excluding models and actresses from the great sisterhood that becomes of being female. The sentiment is all about a reality check rather than some unattainable dream. It’s a smart move in many ways don’t you think?

So there you have it, if you’d like to appear in a glossy womens’ lifestyle magazine this is your chance to shine!

Simply visit www.goodtoknow.co.uk/essentials for further details on how to enter, and follow the campaign on our Facebook and Twitter pages…they can’t wait to hear from you.

This a Handpicked Digitorial in association with essentials

What I love about these photos is that they make me laugh every time I look at them. Much as you think it would be Christmas day, this was one of the year’s that Miniminx had spent Christmas at her Dad’s house so she’d just got home a few days after and was desperate to open her presents (and see me of course).

She had no idea what she was getting but I knew this was what she really wanted. Having gone through lengthy explanations about Father Christmas having delivered her presents to two houses, it was time to let the unwrapping begin. It was quite a sight to behold and I had no idea that she’d be so funny either. So that kind of sums up our lives really!

And so Motherhood for me has it’s own little mantra: Always expect the unexpected and the humour and laughter will find you!

We are going to hear more about early onset puberty and as parents it’s something that’s going to worry us all. I urge you to do your own research; speak to your doctor, look at trusted sources and ignore the headlines.

The Sunday Times published an article about Girls begin puberty at 9 today. Apparently, starts the article: Growing numbers of girls are reaching puberty before the age of 10, raising fears of increased sexual activity among a new generation of children.

So of course, we are all beset by fear; surely you could hear the outrage and mortification across the country as parents looked up from their Sunday Times newspaper this morning and whispered to each other ‘Will our year 6 children be at it behind the bikesheds and getting pregnant? Should we be giving them the ‘talk’ – the one about condoms and the morning after pill six years earlier than we imagined?’

Now here’s the odd bit, not one fact other than the year the research was carried out is available to us poor readers. Here it is…

‘The research was carried out in Denmark in 2006, the latest year for which figures were available, but experts believe the trend applies to Britain and other parts of Europe. Data from America also point to the earlier onset of puberty.’

Anders Juul, head of the Department of Growth and Reproduction at the University hospital in Copenhagen, a ‘world leader in the study of hormones and growth’ should think twice before trying to garner publicity for his institution. His research is particularly focused on young girls and according to his research, girls who experience early puberty will be riddled with diseases such as breast cancer and heart problems, obese due to junk food and lack of exercise, and prone to breast cancer and living at the mercy of environmental chemicals. It’s a widely known fact, and one I’ve checked with my GP, puberty happens once girls have reached a certain weight and that’s nature.

But we are at the mercy here of a supposed quality Sunday newspaper. It should put further context behind this story. The article also misleads the reader by stating that the standard age for ‘normal puberty’ ie starting periods is 12 years of age. A shocking manipulation of the facts to make the headline scream even louder. The onset of puberty does not begin with periods and is likely to happen between the ages of 8-10 years. So isn’t 9 years of age just average?

See where I’m going with this – it’s nonsense. And yet, the academics claim to know best by putting the frighteners on us. ‘Scientists warn that such young girls are ill-equipped to cope with sexual development when they are still at primary school.’

Ahem, excuse me but we have such a thing as sex education that starts from around the age of 8. There’s also loads of information widely available on the internet which has been created specifically for and with children. The NHS Boys and Girls Puberty Q&A and Puberty pages are awash with well presented facts.

The big news for me is that artificially produced chemicals have been blamed for interfering with sexual development, notably bisphenol A, a plastic found in the lining of tin cans and babies’ feeding bottles. BABIE’S FEEDING BOTTLES?

So aside from being poisoned by feeding bottles, there are other scary risks at play here according to Richard Stanhope, an expert in hormonal disorders in children who recently retired from Great Ormond Street.

“All the things we experience as teenagers are difficult enough to cope with, but when it happens at 10 or 11 it is much worse,” he said. “These children are also at a much higher risk of being sexually abused because it is hard for some adults to understand and behave appropriately towards them.”

“I had to wear a bra at 9,” said an anonymous girl “I used to pretend to be ill to get out of changing for PE. “The worst part was men coming on to me as though I was an adult when actually I was 11.”

This incredibly sinister quote from a young girl about how adults have ‘come on to her’ because they’re confused makes me very afraid that pubescent girls are now demonised before they’ve even left junior school.

But that’s not my point. Let’s roll back that last comment shall we? Adults who ‘come on’ to children are paedophiles.

I wonder if this girl was supported and told to report the adult to the police instead of speaking to a journalist. She needs to understand that none of this is her fault.