Jojo Moyes’s blog

this is a test

I have a couple of friends who have occasionally remarked on my (very vague) resemblance to Hermione Norris, she of Spooks and Cold Feet fame. Last night, at the Costa Book Awards, I actually became Ms Norris, or at least her substitute, when she had to cancel an appearance there at the last minute, and Jenny Colgan and I were shunted onto her table.

This, dear reader, meant that the two lovely guests to my left got not some kick-ass blonde actress with a great line in counter-espionage, but a slightly tipsy novelist who they had probably never heard of. Sadly for them, and luckily for me, as those men were Patrick Dempsey, md of Whitbread (the Costa sponsors) and David Morrissey, star of Blackpool and the Dr Who Christmas Special.

They did their best to hide their disappointment. My friend nda fellow novelist Jenny Colgan, meanwhile, did her best to keep quiet the fact that in her handbag was her key fob, complete with miniature Tardis…

There is a certain breed of male actor who induces something I can only call a female wobble, where members of the opposite sex go a little slack jawed and stupid in their presence. George Clooney, according to Jenny, allows “an extra 20 IQ points for women on first meeting”, just because he understands the effect he has on them. I can report at close hand, having watched a few autograph hunters around him, that the very charming Mr Morrissey is one of these men.

One male novelist (I’ll spare his blushes) told me that a couple of years ago he had been introduced to Clare Grogan, the object of his teenage lust. This was a meeting he had dreamt of for years - but as she said hello, he found himself firmly in the “nggghhhh” conversational category.

I don’t believe I had any slack-jawed moments last night, but if I did, it wasn’t me sitting there on table 25 last night, Mr Morrissey, it was Hermione Norris. Honest.

I’m fifty thousand words in to my new novel, which is titled: The Last Letter From Your Lover. As part of this book, I am including in the chapter headings examples of real-life Dear John letters - whether sent by text, email or snail mail, some of which are already burning a hole in my research folder.

Over the next few weeks I will be placing small ads in the national press, and on some social networking sites, asking for more examples. These can be anonymised, and as short as two lines (I won’t be able to include more than 100 words of any one).

If you have a Dear John that you want preserved for posterity - whether you be the sender or the recipient, whether it be funny, scabrous, offensive, or tear-jerkingly beautiful, please do email me, or post it here. I can’t pay, but I will credit every sender in the acknowledgments - that’s if they want their name to appear…details can be deleted/altered to protect the innocent.

I will post some on the website prior to publication. A few - like the man who suggested his girlfriend “take a good hard look at all the ways she had proven a disappointment to him”, had me open-mouthed, while others, such as the text which says: “Please stop standing outside my house at night crying. WE ARE OVER and you are bothering my neighbours” had me curling my toes in horror.

Who knows…it may be a little historic, but I may post one of my own…anonymously, of course.

It’s been impossible to ignore the coverage of the death of John Travolta’s son, Jett, who apparently died as a result of some kind of seizure.

Today the Telegraph website posted pictures from the Travolta family album, presumably issued by the family, showing tender snapshots of a boy, who may or may not have been autistic, and his loving family.

Two things struck me about these pictures: one was the reaction of a friend, who remarked, on the news of Jett’s death, “well, maybe it will be a relief for them too…”. When Lockie, our deaf child, was born, one unthinking neighbour remarked that for me to have another deaf child “would be irresponsible.” Because a disabled child can only be a burden, right? There’s not a day since that I haven’t wished I had greeted that ignorant comment with the response it deserved. I suspect the Travolta family are going to have to endure a lot worse.

Which brings me to point two: the fact that any online news story about the Travoltas is already thick with readers’ comments, some of which attack them for their Scientology beliefs, some suggesting those beliefs were responsible in some way for his death.

You know, I don’t think there’s anything much appropriate to say about or to the parent of a child who has died, apart from how sorry you are, how awful it is. I am no apologist for Scientology; the little I know about it provokes a response in me that is part hysterical laughter (Xenu? Really?), part deep distrust. But whether the Travoltas denied Jett’s diagnosis of autism seems less relevant to me than the news that he had not one but two full time nannies, at least one of whom was looking out for him when he died. These are not the actions of neglectful parents. As we recover from the spectre of Baby P, I wouldn’t be too quick to attack the grieving Travoltas.

In the age of instant comment, everyone feels they have a right to a public opinion on almost any story of the age. Perhaps they do. Reading some of the comments about the Travoltas over the past 48 hours, put out without thought, or self-censorship, however, I can’t help wishing for an age where as my mother used to say, if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all…

To Guildford last Friday to take part in the epic (nine days!) Book Festival there. I was appearing at the Girl’s Night event with bestselling writers Katie Fforde, Matt Dunn and Polly Williams, among others, and sat in on a very enlightening session on Mills and Boon.

It’s not all Barbara Cartland, that’s for sure. I had no idea, for example, that the M and B panel of experts are prone to disapprove if the moment of passion does not encompass the use of a condom. I also hadn’t known that one of its bestselling writers was not just male, but used to write combat books.

It reminded me of a story I was once told at the Romantic Novelist’s Association about a best-selling romance author, another gentleman who writes as a woman. I will spare his (her) blushes, and call her Charlotte Spencer. The author had one too many drinks one evening and got into an altercation, which landed him in the police station. The local newspaper took great delight the following day in reporting that Miss Charlotte Spencer, author of romance novels, had been arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct.

… by DJ Paterson. Feels like being back in the schoolyard, except that instead of swapping warm cartons of milk and Superheroes stickers, I’m apparently meant to past six random things about myself. So, in no particular order:

1. I can read braille (I used to work in the visually impaired section of a bank)

2. I once got placed under house arrest in China. This was not a whole heap of fun.

3. I bought myself a horse at the age of 14. The fact that I lived in Hackney did not seem like an obstacle at the time.

4. I was once serenaded by David Soul during the 1997 General Election campaign.

5. My favourite song is Rufus Wainwright’s The Art Teacher.

6. I used to go to school with Dido.

Okay… now I need to pass this on (may have to do the links tomorrow):

Jenny Colgan
Kate Harrison
Matt Dunn
Mike Gayle
Lisa Jewell
Glenda Cooper

Oh dear God there are no words…

Okay. So this has very little about publishing, but quite a lot to do with my current state of barely suppressed perma-rage. Very happy to hear any other suggestions, but these are the ones that currently make me throw my alarm clock radio at the wall.

Jordan and her ilk being shortlisted for book awards, when they haven’t read the book that bears their name, let alone written it. (See also prize organisers hiring celebrity judges who have never even expressed an interest in books.)

Banks, who demand minimum regulation - but go running to the Government for bailing out when markets go wrong. And their directors, who somehow insulate themselves against the credit crunch with continuing bumper packages.

Our Government quietly removing our democratic right to object to major planning proposals (new runway at Stansted airport, anyone?) while dressing it up as an easier way of putting up your conservatory.

MPs expenses. Why am I subsidising mortgage-free MPs mortgage expenses? And why am I paying £4000 for John Prescott’s annual food bill? Who the hell can eat £4000 worth of food?

Circle of Shame in Heat magazine, and all its spin-offs. You know what? This is why girls are neurotic about their appearance… (see also the Daily Mail’s “ooh, look how fat/thin she is” paparazzi shots

Eco Towns. Our proposed “eco-town” in Elsenham is planned on several hundred acres of green field.

Okay. I think I need to lie down now…

So I’ve spent some of today reading up the various blogs on the story of the deaf couple below - not least because I’ve had some trackbacks from my own blog - and I wanted to add one point to my comments of yesterday.

I still don’t agree with the notion of “choosing” a deaf child, especially not for the reasons Tomato Lichy and his partner gave in the two interviews I heard. But I do back emphatically their stance on the HFE bill which would effectively not allow implantation of a deaf embryo.

I don’t believe my position is contradictory; I still believe deafness is a disability, in so much as it is the loss, or lack, of a primary sense. But for anyone to argue that my son should not have had a life because his ears don’t work like everyone else’s is frankly terrifying. (Hah! Reminds me of the old bat who once told me I would be “irresponsible” to have any more children. This from a woman who had never held a job her whole life.)

It is entirely possible that our children will have deaf children (connexin 26 is in our family’s genes); if embryos with deafness genes “will be automatically discarded“, well, that just about does for most of us. But living with deafness (our son is still profoundly deaf when he is not wearing his implant) has shown our family and friends that deafness is not a disaster - it’s not even the most interesting thing about him.

He is what he is - a marvellous mixture of deaf and hearing, a bright, impetuous, funny, happy member of our hearing family. As far more sophisticated commentators than I have argued, our increased reproductive technologies have created a moral mess, and here it is more visible than most: IVF embryo selection by its very nature means that some embryos will not be given the chance to live.

If this debate has shown nothing else, it has hopefully highlighted that deafness, or indeed the ability to hear - should not be the grounds on which that life or death decision should be made. I’m not sure I could ever play God enough to decide what grounds would be suitable - I have friends with children with CF, cerebal palsy - would our lives really be so much better without them? The very idea is offensive.

Frankly, if we have to make a choice, I’d be more in favour of pinning the tail on the petri dish - surely that would be closer to nature?

I’ve been thinking all day about the deaf couple who want the right to “choose” a deaf baby - not least because I’ve listened to them interviewed on Radio 4 and Radio 2.

To summarise, Tomato Lichy and his partner already have one deaf child, and hope for another via IVF. New legislation would mean they could not choose an embryo which had deaf genes, if a “non-deaf” embryo was available.

They say the act suggests that deaf people are not equal to hearing people; Mr Lichy almost militantly insists that his deafness is not a disability.

As the mother of a deaf child, I am sympathetic to his viewpoint (I would HATE anyone to consider my son inferior) but I cannot agree with what Mr Lichy would choose.

When we were offered a cochlear implant for Lockie, one of our first reservations was that accepting it would almost be like telling him that he was not “good enough” as he was. But there is a simple fact here - one which Mr Lichy refuses to accept - deafness IS the loss of a primary sense, and in that respect it cannot BUT be a disability. Much as we were afraid to put our child through surgery, we felt it was our duty to give him every option - hearing or deaf - for the fullest possible life.

He is now a hearing, speaking child, one who sings and listens to music, but all those are immaterial next to the fact that we did our duty as parents and gave him as many choices and chances as we were able. If he chooses to go to a deaf school, or a mainstream one, sign or talk - those are his choices, and fine by us. But by choosing a deaf child within a fairly determinedly insularly deaf family, they are restricting that of their putative child.

I am loath to criticise them - especially given the hammering they have taken on the radio today already - but I suspect that the couple’s real resistance comes from fear; fear that they will not be able to communicate or bond with a hearing child as they have with their child who is “like them”.

I understand this view - having a deaf child in our hearing family took some adjusting to too, and a fair bit of actual work. But I would argue that what they propose is just as discriminatory and short-sighted as it would be in reverse. Embracing deaf or hearing culture enriches both sides. For this reason, and despite the fact that I have no doubt that they are loving, caring parents, I hope they fail.