.....Sat here in splendid isolation at 8.25 this evening -I am at peace with the world.

I haven't been outside of our house and my writing room either yesterday or today, and am missing Toby terribly (we have bugs), but I have been in touch with nature and myself. I can hear the birds singing plaintive solitary soliloquies, and the soft thumping of the rain, rhythmic and soporific. The light of early dusk is softly dimming and I feel that I have achieved all I have set out to do this weekend.

My friend, Lisa, has produced the most amazing sketch outline for the cover of my novel ' The King of Sandcastles. I was like a small child when she sent through the PDF not knowing whether what I could see in my minds eye whilst writing the book was going to be translated into something solid rather than a misty-eyed dream. I was frightened that the proposed publishers were going to trample over my dreams with their miopic art department's stereotypical idea of a book cover, so approached my friend to help me thwart this normal course of events.

A book cover should be, to me, something which introduces the story and invites the reader to enter the world ' beckoning and encouraging the safe suspension of all other thoughts and outside intrusions ' to take respite for a moment cocooned within a world they would not otherwise visit. A safe harbour to rest and replenish their mind in this crazy IT and TV driven world.

The book covers I have seen this weekend have done everything except that ' they are cluttered and noisy with their own self-importance. Distracting not complimenting and actually in one instance has put me off reading, what I am sure is inside, an excellent book.

Books should be read with relish, the experience not a disposable one (well at £7.99 for some of these paperbacks they are not really disposable are they?). The paper and the fonts should be accessible, not hard yellowed cheap paper with a font so difficult to decipher it makes the reader struggle ' that is the author's job the struggling bit! ' the reader needs to sit back and glide through the book totally oblivious to the blood sweat and tears that have gone into it. No wonder we are finding it difficult to keep bookstores in business, gone are the days when you browsed and dreamed then bought.

Most of my friends pick their books up with the groceries, and in some instances discard them as they do the spent packaging. I miss bookshops, Amazon doesn't cut it for me. I have heard of another one closing this week. There soon will be none left and I will have to explain this concept to my children when I write my memoirs. Having said that, unless this publisher can respect my dream, I shan't be adding to their coffers. I don't think it is any coincidence that they ride around in plush cars, whilst authors struggle to sell a book a year, often propped up by the State.

Instead perhaps I shall publish my own, one copy of the book at a time if necessary. I won't make a profit, but I will reap richer rewards than that. I will have put my name to a book I am proud to show the world and glean all the satisfaction that that will afford me.

My dream will be intact and as I have nothing to prove, nothing will be proved, except that I will have "achieved", and my book won't be covered in spilt milk before it gets home. What really has made my spirit soar is that I was able to convey to Lisa, in totally inadequate words, the picture I saw in my head when I was writing the book, and she intuitively understood - that has given me a real thrill and resolve to do this right.

I have now extinguished my candle, said goodnight to my words, and am going off to watch TV, my creative spirit nourished and awakened.

[This was written as a "rant" a few months ago - Lisa is my friend and "muse fairy" a fellow writer who has both a light touch with words and art. Toby is our 16 year old son who nearly died on November 28th 2005 in a road traffic accident - he is now in rehabilitation. ]

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