Book Week, Scotland

I am absolutely thrilled and delighted to have been invited to be a part of Book Week, Scotland. I hope to see you there! 

Come and see what all the fuss is about...

Read the first part of   Split Decision for free.

Yup, crying again...

 Within the last two weeks I have watched two immensely enjoyable films which although very different, both left me in tears at the end. 

The first was I Am Woman, the story of Helen Reddy's rise to fame as a singer in the 60s and 70s. A completely flawless portrayal by actress Tilda Cobham-Hervey of a woman who was both vulnerable and full of gritty determination, was of course only part of the appeal. 

Cobham-Hervey was supported by a plethora of fabulous actors who seemed to live and breathe and totally embody the very real-life people who had surrounded Reddy during her lifetime. 

And that song! Was there ever a song that could be a better anthem for 50% of the population? I'd heard I Am Woman, growing up in the 70s in Glasgow, but never had I attached so much significance to the song. Before, it had rolled off my tongue as I sang along, attaching my own petty (and sometimes not so petty) problems to the lyrics... but watching the film, seeing Reddy's very real struggles in a world that did not even give women command of their own bodies, let alone destinies, I finally got the real sentiment of the song. Not the easy - we are all equal - but the more complex idea, that women had been equal all along, it was just that men had failed to notice. 

And so crying my eyes out, I finished watching the film and gave thanks to all those women, who for centuries have fought oppression, so that I - a woman - can sit here today and push out script after script, novel after novel and not be dismissed as 'just a woman'. 

Sadly, Helen Reddy died last September. Not through Covid but through complications of her failing health and dementia. She'll never know the effect her story had upon me. But I know that she was aware of the effect it had already had on countless millions. 

So if you haven't watched the film, I urge you to do so. 

The second film which made me cry was Anna And The Apocalypse. Another musical, it has however a completely different feel and subject matter of I am Woman. 

Hats off to the writers and director of this film. It could have been a fly-away thing, something to watch on a wet Sunday afternoon in lockdown. But actually the film had soul (if you'll forgive the pun, being as the film was about zombies).  

This, as they made very clear during one of the many catchy songs, was to have no Hollywood ending. And the film (enjoyable throughout) was strengthened by its non-Hollywood ending. It was a brave move and one which in my opinion paid off, giving the whole film a depth and compassion that elevated it beyond what it would otherwise have been. 

Ella Hunt was stunning in the lead role and acted, sang and danced her way through it with aplomb. She's certainly going on my list of actresses I'd like to cast in one of my films. 

The only thing I didn't like in the whole of the film was the pram lying abandoned on the road and the zombie attacking it in one of  the opening scenes. That in my opinion was a step too far... but otherwise a great film.

Again, if you haven't seen it, make time to do so. 

And look out for my big news, coming soon. 

Happy viewing! x

Naughty or Nice?

With Christmas almost here, my thoughts have turned to the strangers who have been most helpful to me, this year. Or not.

It's only a bit of fun, but I do advise you to make your own list, as not only does it allow you to vent your angst over something, but it allows the wider picture to be seen, whether you reach a balance or whether you've had a year full of annoying, petty, problems.

NAUGHTY                                                      NICE                        

The man who shouted abuse at me,         All the fellow dog- walkers who stopped  

because I pressed the button                    to chat with me. 

for the lights to change. 

The woman who complained about       Glasgow Council, who helped me 

me placing things outside of my            dispose of my dad's old furniture, 

dad's flat for the council to pick up.       after he passed away. 

(The furniture was next to the bins as

I'd been told to do.)

                                                                                    

The sales assistant at Charford Post       The OTHER sales assistant, who just did it 

Office, who sent me away with my           the next day, when I returned, 

heavy parcel unposted, as                       refusing all help from me.

'she wasn't allowed' to  lift it, 

( fair enough) but insisted that I

couldn't place it where all the other

large parcels waited to be collected

by the Parcelforce driver, as only she

could do that!

Beko manufacturers and AO for           Argos for replacing my broken vacuum  

making and selling me a dishwasher     cleaner, without the slightest quibble.

that broke the DAY AFTER the 12

month warranty ran out.

I could go on, but I won't, as I think you get my point.

Life is made up of the things that happen to us and how others help us through those times.

Going forward, I'm going to do my damnedest to be on other people's 'nice' side.

I hope to see you there! ;)

Happy reading.

I'm back!

I've written the first part of this blog three times, and erased it three times, so this is my fourth attempt. 

You'd be forgiven for thinking that because of the sort of novels and screenplays that I've written, emotions would be easy for me to deal with. But they're not. In fact, I am an exceptionally emotional person; even if I don't reflect it on the outside, I'm often screaming on the inside. 

Maybe it's not a bad thing then, that after my recent bereavement, I am returning to two very different projects. One is a comedy screenplay that I am writing and which would suit Simon Pegg and Nick Frost down to the ground; the other is a sharp and introspective monologue. 

The beauty of writing these in tandem, is that the comedy elevates me from the depths of despair, whilst the monologue allows me to voice and externalise that primal inner scream. 

My father's funeral was a strange affair. Filled with funny moments and memories, heart-breaking ones, and many which were both unique and special. I wish he could have been there to experience it. I think he would have approved. 

And as for my current projects? Well he would have loved the screenplay, and he would have understood the dark monologue, but he wouldn't have been comfortable with it. 

The monologue though is intended for quite a different audience. It will be a stand-alone piece of theatre, something that will be delivered to a live audience and will take their breath away with its power and its truth. 

But working on both together works for me. Isn't that the very nature of life after all? That sometimes we cry and then we laugh or vice versa? 

Life isn't simple. Why should my work be?

Until next time - happy reading!

Apologies

Dear readers, I apologise for being absent from the blog for some weeks. I was working towards divulging some exciting news to you, when my personal life became more of a focus for me, due to circumstances. 

This will be the case for some weeks to come, unfortunately. 

I am still working, still editing and writing the stories you love so much, and planning to get them out asap, but my attention is slightly divided at the moment. 

Please bear with me through this difficult time, and just re-read one of my other books for now - I promise I'll be back soon. 


Lots of  love, Carmen. 

Brave new Glasgow?

When I was eighteen I left Glasgow for London. It wasn't that I thought the streets in London were paved with gold, but that I thought that city was rich with opportunities I wouldn't find in Glasgow.

Back then in 1984, Glasgow was a dark city. I don't mean that in a symbolic, euphemistic way. I mean it literally. The buildings were black, the streets a dark grey, the skies were grey... hell, even the faces of the people were grey.

The brash gaiety of the decade's pubs, full of themes like 'Alice in Wonderland' and 'Berlin before World War II' [and I kid you not - these were real themes in the pubs at the time] where the bar staff dressed in character, failed to raise my optimism once the final drink had been drunk and I stepped out once more into the harsh, drab reality of the city.

But in the intervening years between then and now, Glasgow has undergone a slow metamorphosis... so subtle to begin with that I almost didn't notice. One by one the old stone buildings have been cleaned of grime [sand-blasted is my best guess] to reveal the real colour of the stone below - red sandstone, rich vanilla or palest cream stone blocks, set together with precision.

And like many transformations, over time things have gathered momentum. One clean building becomes two - notable but still not remarkable - and then it's three, becoming eventually a whole street. Then the dilapidated buildings which were ill-conceived back in their heyday of the 1970's, and certainly not fit for modern purposes, start to disappear. Like the cleaning, it happens one at a time, barely noticeable, not all that significant...

So during every visit I'd look around and note the changes. Yet nothing prepared me for what I found on my most recent visit.

Like every transformation that is done piecemeal, the full effect is never realised until the project is almost completed. It is then that the process appears to speed up, and an overall effect is given. But with a project the scale and size of Glasgow, it would appear that the whole is much, much greater than the sum of its parts.

Because now Glasgow is beautiful. I mean really beautiful. Not the fading beauty of a distant past, but the shining beauty of a vibrant metropolis, full of glitz, glamour, and sex-appeal. Everywhere there are up-market restaurants, designer shops, snazzy signage on the buildings and liveried doormen.

Gone are all the awful 1970's and '80's buildings, and in their place stand fine pieces of modern architecture, in fantastic juxtaposition with the very best of the Victorian buildings. It really is a sight to behold, because each lends the other something it could not otherwise have.

It reminded me a little of an image of a wise old granddad holding the hand of his young grandchild standing at his side. Here was the steadfastness of age, the wisdom and the sure-footedness of knowledge garnered though time-worn experience; and the vibrancy of youth, the innocence and eagerness and freshness of a life not yet fully lived.

It took my breath away. And I wanted to find the official, whoever he or she was, who had the good sense and courage not to just demolish everything, but to keep all the great old structures and build a new Glasgow around and through them, involving them in the new builds in an almost organic, symbiotic way.

Perhaps even more surprisingly, there are beautiful murals everywhere. Not abstract shapes and exaggerated colours and angles which revolt the eye, but masterful, meaningful pictures full of love and hope for a better future, artfully crafted with skill and finesse.

I almost couldn't believe that this was the old drab city I used to live and work in. And the people walk about for the most part oblivious of the beauty around them. I wanted to run up to them, to shake them and make them look up at the gargoyles, the finials, the carvings and mouldings - make them realise that here were things of lasting beauty and worthy of praise. But for the most part their eyes were fixed on the Gucci handbags and Prada offerings on display in the shop windows.

But the thing which really marred my total optimism for Glasgow's future, was the number of homeless people huddled in doorways, cardboard boxes and dirty, stained sleeping bags pulled around them. The Glasgow of my time didn't have this. Perhaps one or two but certainly never the volume of current Glasgow. I think it might be even more than would be found upon the streets of London.

Certainly it appears that Glasgow has a new-found wealth... but what is also clear is that the divide between the 'haves' and the 'have-nots' is wider than ever. And by 'have-nots' I'm not taking about the people who can't quite afford the full Sky TV bundle, I'm talking about the real 'poor' - the ones who don't even have a roof over their heads.

Now don't worry, I'm not going to get all political on you, I'll leave that to those who are better qualified. But what I will say, is that I was more than a little shocked.

So Glasgow, perhaps you need to start revamping your indigenous population too, before all those people in their shiny new Christian Louboutin shoes fall over them and twist an ankle!

Happy reading!

 

It's war!

Working on Future Perfect today and it looks as if there's a war brewing...

It is more important than ever that the world these children are born into, is as stable and as bountiful as it can be.

In another part of the Dome, I roll open the shutter doors and send the modified assignment vehicle through.

I track every metre of its progress back to the renegade sector. Through the artificial eyes of the satellites I see it roll steadily across the grass and wasteland, keeping to as straight a line as possible to decrease distance.

Seen in this way, a single object moving in an otherwise still frame, there is an inherent beauty to it, a line of symmetry, a form of both grace and refinement that I have not previously noticed. It is as if I am seeing it for the very first time.

Happy Reading!

Back to work!

Here is the latest on the current book:-

Mitchell’s right, she’s enormous. From the look of her, you’d think she was at least six months pregnant. Yet she is barely more than six weeks.

“You’ve grown so much!” I can’t stop myself from exclaiming.

“I know!” She laughs. “Goodness knows the size I’ll be by the end!” Her words cause an involuntary shiver up my spine. What else will she be by the end, I wonder. Dead?

The thought comes from out of nowhere, attacks my conscience with its vivid  imagery – Helena, grotesquely swollen, her stomach torn asunder as if the foetuses have exploded from there in a shower of gore and carnage. Bile rises in my throat. I swallow it back down and hold it there by force of will.  

Happy Reading!

Coming Soon

My latest book  [almost completed] is about a woman whose life falls apart after she hears some revelations. Is she like me? No, not at all, but even so, getting into her head space is draining and emotional. That is of course part of the joy and sorrow of writing - you personally bear the pain of every misfortune your character suffers. And then at the end of the book there is no real sense of release... the characters linger for a while. It's like that old saying they used to have in offices which read, "You don't have to be mad to work here... but it helps." You don't have to be insane to write your characters well but... :)

 

I'm not sure when this one will be published, as you know I have a bit of a backlog going on, but I'll keep you posted.

 

Happy Reading!

Happy New Year!

The main reason for my recent visit to Glasgow was to see my elderly father but I also set time aside to catch up with friends. As we only meet once a year, it is fairly easy to keep up the pretence that I am always well-groomed and presentable and that I never, ever answer the door to the postman in my pjs.

But I knew the day was going to go badly when, sitting perched on her side of the bed in the Travelodge room that I was sharing with her, my two sons and two large dogs, my daughter asked through mouthfuls of cornflakes why I had chosen to dye my hair ginger.

Ginger? Really? I shot up and examined myself to find that she was at least a little right. What I had thought to be a pleasing shade of mid-blonde was indeed rather gingery… which proved that not only was my hair turning white, but my eyesight was failing!

The rest of the day turned out to be different to my expectations too. I had carefully researched where I could meet my friend in the centre of Glasgow to have a drink, as I had not only three children in tow but also two dogs. Finally the internet provided an answer and I arranged the meeting after confirming that they did allow dogs in.

So the appointed day and time came and we made our way to the pub, only to be greeted by two men carrying large bundles of wood into the place.

Horrified, I asked if they had suddenly closed for refurbishment. But they hadn’t. Phew relief! They eyed up the dogs. Equally nervously, I stated that I had already phoned them to check that they allowed dogs in. They assured me they did. We were halfway down the steps into the basement bar before they called me back.

“What?” I asked rather tersely by now. “Aren’t you open yet?”

“Naw hen we’re open,” he said in a broad Glaswegian dialect. “An we’re no doin’ any renovations. An aye yer dugs are welcome in. But ye cannae take yer kids in here.” [Translation: “My dear we are open. There are no renovations being currently carried out and your dogs are most welcome here. But not your children, unfortunately.”]

Would you believe it?

Equally as strange, was the pub we ate at that night which turned out to be a deconsecrated church. The pulpit and area for the choir was still preserved, as was the vaulted ceiling and the stained glass windows. The place was incredibly beautiful and somehow very wrong.

So one pub which was licenced to allow dogs but not kids through the door, and another that had once been the site of religious worship and was now favouring a worship of an entirely different kind altogether? Absolutely! Only in Scotland folks, only in Scotland.

Happy New Year!

Are you looking for me? ;)

I think I live in a world that is increasingly surreal...

This blog gives me viewing figures and other stats which I keep a less than eagle eye on. However this morning I noticed that the viewing figures had shot dramatically up, [in a major way, literally quadrupling overnight] so I took a closer look.

When I followed one of the entry sites that people had linked onto the blog from, guess what I found...ok I'll tell you 'cos you will never guess... a site selling Viagra! How funny is that? Me and Viagra...what on earth could possibly be the link?

Answers on a postcard please! ;)

Women of the Year Awards!

I am so excited I can barely stand still!

I have been asked to do a book signing at the  Women of the Year Awards ceremony!

http://www.womenoftheyear.uk.com/

When I did this before, a couple of years ago, there were a multitude of famous faces at the event and this year will be no exception, with Michelle Mone as this year's speaker, along with Baroness Stedman-Scott as keynote speaker.

It can be daunting chatting to these impressive, powerful ladies who have made such a huge impact on industry and commerce, as well as on our daily lives, in ways that we often don't stop to think about, as role models and innovators in their fields.

Indeed the event will be rammed with women who have risen to the top of their particular industries, and for them, there can be nothing better than knowing that they got there on their own merits. I hope one day I will be joining their ranks!

But it is Ms Mone who I am most eager to chat to, both as a woman and as a fellow Glaswegian... I wonder what her particular reading-taste will prove to be...

I'll keep you posted!

Robin Williams

I wasn't intending to write a post about the recent death of Robin Williams...much has already been said about the man, his life, his work and his recent death...but I find myself unable to rid my mind of such thoughts. And as so often in my life, I find that writing is a cathartic process which perhaps does not heal a wound but at least lets the pus drain away.


I cannot claim to have known or even ever to have met the man but I do know of his work. I remember him best as the madcap Mork from Mork and Mindy, the fast and furious speech, the wide grin and the endearing behaviour. But most of all I remember sitting watching it, perched on the end of my parents' bed with my dad laughing uproariously and occasionally explaining the finer points to me - I guess I was about seven then.


I remember too, watching Mrs Doubtfire with my own children, my heart wrenched at his character's obvious love for his family despite his flaws.


Robin Williams was the very essence of a comic genius who could wring sentiment from even the coldest of hearts. I have no idea how this affected him in his personal life or whether he was afflicted with the neuroses that seem too often to accompany genius...all I know is that he left a family who loved him and a world that [to echo his daughter] will be a little darker with his passing.


For me personally this news comes at a strange time, for I am undergoing a small grieving process of my own. I seem to have come to a crossroads in life, I can see the many roads of the past which led me to where I now stand. Some of those roads are now careworn and covered with a thin veil of dust - the passage of time and the losses it wreaks on our souls serve to decay and rot the surface of such trails but other roads are yet fresh and beckon towards me with a strange eerie call. To go down those roads previously well trodden would be dangerous but the appeal is there nonetheless.


The future is less clear. And I guess that is true for all of us. We can only ever see to the very edge of where the light shines forth, beyond that is a darkness as thick and impenetrable as Sleeping Beauty's forest.


I don't know where the future leads, where its path will be smooth and where I might stumble upon the way...but I am nevertheless driven forward. Sometimes I wish I were not 'blessed' with the dark disposition that occasionally comes upon me but then again, it is this darkness that fuels my novels I am sure.


So to the family of Robin Williams, I would say this : venture down that path ahead as far as you feel you can and when the darkness gets too much, cast your eye back to the blazing trail your father left behind him. What that may have cost him I would not like to speculate but I hope that the knowledge that he made one little Glaswegian and her dad very happy, may light the darkness, even just a tiny bit.


Rest In Peace Mr Williams. x

OOPS!

I forgot to mention that The Owners Volume IV :A New Epoch will be free to download over the next few days. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity so don't miss out!

Happy Reading!

I'm surprised to see you in here!

Well a character has popped up in my new book that I didn't expect. Her name is Valerie and she is very like my late grandmother.


I didn't intend to base this character on my grandmother at all - in fact I had her down for a very different personality type altogether but every time she spoke or performed any action, I saw and heard my grandmother in my head.


Sometimes this happens and when it does I always go with the feeling. I think it happens for a reason but whatever that is, it is so deeply buried in my subconscious, I cannot get to it.


So it looks like Valerie will be a larger character than I had originally anticipated. Just like my grandmother, she cannot let a good gossip pass her by.


Lets hope she is just as wise and just as endearing!

Early this morning I read a lot of philosophical sayings. There was a reason that I did this and it had nothing at all to do with one of my books or my writing. I won't bore you with the reason but I did want to share some thoughts with you.




I had thought that I was always an intrepid explorer sort of person. I thought I was the sort of woman who would have pioneered across America in the days of covered wagons and cart horses if I had lived in that age.


I had thought that if I had lived in any other age my metal would have been tested and found to be strong and true. But I have come to the sad conclusion that I have been somewhat delusional over this.


My original assumption was based on the fact that I left home at sixteen for a summer job which required me to live-in. Although I returned home in the autumn, I left home for good a bare eighteen months later at the age of eighteen.


I moved around a lot when I was younger, leaving Glasgow for London, London for Birmingham and Birmingham for Bromsgrove. I got bored of the same old scenery, the same old places, the same old faces and when I stayed in any one place it was not through choice but through necessity because I had ties that bound me there.


More recently I longed to move, to seek new horizons, to embrace what the world had to offer. That said it would have been within the geographical confines of driving distance to the schools my children attend, so granted I was never about to backpack around the world!


But I find now that the future has the distinct shape and pattern of the past, the same hue and colour and holds no more promise for me than my chameleon past.


This is not about my writing or my children...these are things that I hold dearly to my heart and always will...this is about my personal journey through life as a single woman, a wife, a mother, a divorcee and finally back to a single woman again. It is about me alone.


I know exactly why I feel as I do and I know exactly what to do about it. I also know that it is in keeping with the next book I am about to embark on. Perhaps that is the whole point of me feeling this way? Perhaps it is a vehicle in which to enter the mind of my next main character? Perhaps. Or perhaps I should just stop analysing it and get on with things...


So no more procrastination...here goes...wheee...!

Dangerous dogs? Dangerous owners?

{Please excuse this departure from my normal topics but this is something I feel strongly about}

In the aftermath of another child being mauled to death by dangerous dogs, I have this to say:-

I'm  very much afraid that animals [and dogs in particular] are EXACTLY like people, there are good ones and there are bad ones. No amount of nurture can make a dog that is essentialy a psychopath into a lapdog [just as no kind treatment could turn a man of the same nature, into a kind loving one] .

It's absolutley impossible! And I speak as a dog owner of two dogs [a collie and a rottweiler] and owner of a multitude of past dogs.

Raised in Glasgow, I was always a keen observer of the nature versus nurture argument and believe me, I saw some rotten apples in otherwise good families and vise versa.

I'm no scientist and I have a creative bent rather than a scientific one anyway, so I guess my penny philosophy counts for nothing in the grand scheme of things but for what it's worth...let's accept that there are some dogs who are downright mad and will chew your leg off with no provocation at all.

Let's not however, turn this into a witch hunt - I am by no means suggesting this is true of ALL dogs, merely a minority - but like the minority of yobs on our streets who turn us against the entire population of youths, there is that chance.

I don't have any answers for you. I don't know if giving wardens better powers under law will make a difference and I certainly don't want to see dogs banned from public places, or any other drastic measure being taken.

But please let us accept that just as there are dangerous human members of our society, there are dangerous dogs. I hope we can find a way to weed both of these out of our environments and create a better, safer world for all.

My thoughts are with the family and friends of Jade Anderson x