Omniscience or head-hopping?

I've suddenly got self-conscious - and consequently come to a stuttering halt - about some of the passages in one of my current wips as a result of hearing about the iniquities of head-hopping.  I thought this passage, dealing with the conversation, actions and thoughts of three adults and three children  worked fine until then, but does it transgress all grammar rules and thereby confuse the reader?

     In the sunny kitchen they [Sean and his son Michael] found Sally making breakfast for both girls, her own daughter in one of the baby chairs, and Rosy held on her hip, not exactly crying but clearly about to make more of a fuss;  an intent halted as soon as she saw Sean [her father], whereupon she jeopardised her security by attempting to launch herself in his direction.  Smiling at both her and Sally, Sean lifted his daughter to safety.  ‘Another hungry child – do they never stop?  Thanks Sally.’   His nod acknowledged that she had been busy, having also cleared the kitchen of the previous night’s detritus.

Occasionally, when Sean stood more than usually close, Sally found herself experiencing a tingle of appreciative awareness.  This morning, his sun-bleached hair tangled and flopping across his forehead and the blue-eyed ease of his smile confirming what the soap-powder freshness of his T shirt failed to mask, i.e. the lust-sweat odour of sex, her  response was considerably stronger.  
     When Michael said, ‘Auntie Sally, my Mummy’s all wore out and she has to stay in bed,’ she couldn’t help but direct a complicit glance at Sean, any more than she could help wondering what it would be like to have this man between her thighs, so different in many ways to his brother, but undoubtedly as able.  Which, in itself, was the teasing, occasionally tormenting, thing.   
     Not that she had any complaints about Christy [Sean's brother]. A little more briskly than intended, with a little less breath than expected, she told Sean, ‘Christy’s gone for some rolls, he shouldn’t be long – he thought he’d nip out while the boys were asleep to make it quicker.  There’s bananas if Michael’s really hungry.’
     ‘I don’t think he’ll starve … but this little girl might think she’s going to if we don’t feed her – is that okay with you Michael, we have to see to the girls first.  Would you like a banana?   You can sit outside and watch for Uncle Christy coming back, but don’t run off.’   
     Five minutes later Sean was more amused than he let on to hear Michael, too impatient to let Christy get within earshot before shouting ‘Uncle Christy, Daddy’s feeding Rosy an’ I’ve got a banana an’ Mummy’s all wore out in bed with no ‘jarmies on!’
    Christy grinned at him, ‘Have I missed all that while I’ve been gone to fetch the rolls – tomorrow it better be someone else’s turn!’   Handing Michael the bag he said, ‘Go and give that to Aunty Sally, and ask her has she got the coffee on?’  He followed the three year-old into the kitchen, and was immediately met with Sean’s now-hard blue stare, above the top of the chair in which Rosy sat, having cereal spooned into her.  It didn’t require his twenty-plus years’ experience to decode the several layers of Sean’s message, especially since Michael’s words had to some extent forewarned him.  Sally’s back being turned, he was able to ruefully acknowledge receipt while not entirely admitting guilt. Just as well Sean had found out, though, before it went any further, he’d known it was a stupid thing to have started.

Aaargghh!

There's acknowledgements, half a page or more of them.  There's thanks to umpteen specialists for advice and information.  Thanks for encouragement, for wifely love.
There's reference to, and more thanks for, the editing.
But no-one seemed to know that there's no such thing, on Scotland's east cost, as a heron gull!

Acknowledgement

I always felt the long list of acknowledgements for assistance in the writing of a novel, increasingly  prevalent it seems, was just a tiny bit pathetic - after all, if they were proper writers surely they could  do it all themselves?

Humbled, I now know different.   A complete stranger, met only through the good offices of the 'whole MS read-swapping' group at WriteWords, not only read the whole of my second draft of 'Not wanted on Voyage', she also made sixty-one comments.   Some were a treat, noting phrases she particularly liked (and henceforth I will always include them in any critique I do), some were small but vital (like pointing out I'd written 'Madigan' when I'd meant 'Mirabel') and several were "too much show, not enough tell".

Having dealt with the minor points I am now tackling these larger ones and already I can see that I am making vast improvements.  Yes - I am making them, it is still my book, but I might not have done so had it not been for her pointing them out, and so I will gladly include her name among other acknowledgements.

And I am very slightly less trepidatious knowing this will be the novel I shall, in September, be handing first to a 'book-doctor' and then pitching to an agent at the York Festival of Writing.

TW3 (remember that?)

TW3 - Friday night, allowed to stay up late despite not entirely understanding the satire of Willie Rushton, not sure whether or not David Frost was a pain and loving the husky break in Millicent Martin's voice, but knowing that this was something new and shocking.

But I'm more referring to the past week - a scratchy week of grey cold, lots of reading (a Good Thing mostly) and bloody editing.  Sometimes editing feels good, improvements flow and you know things can only get better, but last week that 'are you sure you're not overwriting, losing the freshness?' question kept asking itself.   Over both novels, which are at the same stage, despite having been begun six months or so apart.

The reading has been mixed:  three fast-paced, violent, noir, damaged hero crime novels (Ken Bruen, Declan Hughes, Ray Banks), all superbly written but a factor in my mild dissatisfaction with what I've written (and no I do not want to emulate but in admiring one can't help but measure).  Frances Fyfield, more thriller than crime but much more 'English', and Tessa Hadley were equally enjoyable. 
[N.B. do click on the top five book covers in  montage in the right hand column for more information]

But yesterday I joined a group called WriteWords which promises much, provided I make the effort to participate.
This week's Prediction prompts are eldritch, manse and aristocracy, with the addition of syzgy if I fancy it.   Not sure how Tao and Carrion Jack, or John Pettinger and Raptor are going to manage those (The story so far can be read on Pages, above.)

Back story, and keeping track

Oh the difficulties of maintaining back story!

And yes I know it's something many writers abhor, and that an anxiety to do so is seen as amateurish,  so although I have put in several thousand words of it, I am now trying to stamp it out.   Drip feed the minimum, as and where necessary and/or applicable.

I had originally dealt with it by writing a dramatic first chapter and followed it with a catch-up second, but no matter how imaginatively I tweaked it, there were dangerous heavy undertones which threatened to drag the as-yet-uncommitted reader into the morass.

And so I am trying to combine (aka 'divide and rule) the two chapters while cutting ruthlessly.   Which has brought me to use Tracking seriously for the first time ever.   Another learning curve.

What is an editor for?

By which I mean what are their core responsibilities?

I ask because I assumed that ensuring correct use of English (inconsistencies of spelling and matching tenses for example) was a given.

And although I would hesitate to claim that they ‘ought’ to impose a minimum level of ‘good’ writing – for example, by suggesting that sentences flow smoothly or that switching to third from first person and back again in a single paragraph was eradicated – I can see that some might be reluctant to impose (put the work in??)

For a novel I would hope that a nod towards veracity was deemed essential, along with an ironing out of any jerky illogicalities which confound the plot, even if only to uphold their own status in supporting the premise that writer is one worth promoting.

So when I read a book by a writer who highly praises her editor and has seven published books (and a contract for more) and I find it barely readable because of what I deem is its poor writing, is that because I’m picky, or that the editor has failed to do her job?

And further undermining my certainty are the tributes from two non-red top newspapers, and the fact that a friend and librarian said that the writer ‘wasn’t bad’, that she had two of her and had looked to buy a third - even given that reading is subjective, surely there’s a bottom line beyond which one would suppose any competent editor would not sink?