About the release of The Boy Who Rescues Pigeons

 A lot of people have asked me why it's taken me so long to release The Boy Who Rescues Pigeons. The answer is simple and yet exceptionally emotionally complex. 

I wrote the book back in 2009 or thereabouts and edited it ready for publication. But I didn't publish it. I couldn't. I wasn't emotionally ready. But I am now. 

The story centres around Lucas Reverential Pertwee - an unusual boy in an unusual situation. Lucas finds and takes in an injured pigeon and in caring for and helping to heal the bird, he manages to emotionally heal himself. The character of Lucas is based upon me and my eldest child, Ryan. We are both raw, bleeding hearts when it comes to animals. 

But the core of the story is actually about my dad. Or rather my step-dad, Gerald McCammick. He took me in as his daughter when I was six and strove to provide a physically safe environment for me. I make the distinction here because ours was not always an easy relationship. Both of us were emotionally scarred by life and there are things that regardless of how hard you try, you never fully recover from. So we trundled along with the occasional drunken rage on his part and teenage truculent slamming of doors on mine. 

I'm not seeking to trivialise these moments. They were part of our lives. A big part. But they also never really shook the bedrock that our made-family was founded upon. We both knew we loved each other. 

Of course there is much more to this story than I've put down upon this page. But that is for another time. Or perhaps never. 

When I wrote the book I told my dad that I was dedicating it to him. He just smiled and said, "Oh aye, very good Carmen." But I know how much it meant to him. It didn't matter that I couldn't bring myself to publish it for so long. We both knew the dedication was forged in each line of text I'd written. Publishing the book wouldn't give it any more validation than it existing in the first place. And when my dad died a few years ago, it didn't matter that I still hadn't brought out the book. The time wasn't yet right. 

So what made the time right now? I don't honestly know, except that deep inside I recognised the change. I'm 56... and six. I'm still that little girl. I still rescue pigeons. 

The Boy Who Rescues Pigeons is available from June 1st, in time for ordering for Father's Day. Take a look at all my books here.

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Back by Popular Demand : Too Much far Too Soon

I am reposting this post below which I wrote a few years ago. This is done by popular demand. Mothers, vote with your feet and your purse strings...

I read something in the Huffington Post the other day which reflected exactly how I felt.
...

Apparently a father of a young daughter, who just also happened to be a Reverend, wrote an open letter to a well-known underwear brand, asking that they reconsider their plans to produce and sell lacy, slogan emblazoned underwear to young(ish) children.
Now I use the word children here both carefully and well considered.

By the laws of this country and most other progressive ones, minors are considered to be 'children' until at least the age of sixteen if not much older. This means that certain things, acts and products are prohibited to them. And this is done with good reason.

Now I know we all love our children and want them to be happy, stylish and feel that they fit in with their peers...but let's get real here...

Do you really think that emblazoning a pair of lacy, racy thong pants with the slogan "feeling lucky?" is the way to do it? Or allowing our teens to be wearing such things?

No! The sentiments exposed there are both too jocular by nature with a semi-sophisticated self-deprication and at once too mocking to emulate the true way that teens feel about the very idea of sexual attraction.

Think back to your own early teens if you will. Were you really so sure of your own attractiveness that you could wear these pants with no self-effacement, no modesty? If you are truthful, I think you will agree with me that the answer is no.

These slogans are made up by [and any teens reading this, I want you to take note] fat, balding old men who sit behind desks dreaming lasciviously of young girls.

Be in no doubt about that.

And girls, these pants are not grown up, they are not sexy...they were designed by dirty old men who dream of you wearing them. Please, please do not buy them!

Mothers and fathers out there - please help your children to see what is happening. We still live in a world where men like Garry Glitter and Jimmy Saville are reviled - do not let that ever change.

This type of underwear is designed to pander to that very element of society...to take innocence and corrupt it as early as possible!
For all our sakes, get this mini-porn lingerie back where it belongs, on the cutting room floor.

The Boy Who Rescues Pigeons

I promised you a snippet so here it is.

He reached under the bed for the laptop. It felt strangely wrong for it to be in his room in the middle of the night, when darkness patrolled outside the window like an intruder, seeking a way into the deepest vestiges of his soul.

He stared at it for a moment without switching it on, willing himself to replace it under the bed and knowing he did not have the courage to do so. He couldn't know his father and not know him at the same time. He could not know his name, his identity, his face and leave it at that, not follow it up in any way. He was not brave enough to face the world alone after all!

He pressed the on button and watched the computer flick into life. Without conscious thought he googled how to contact his dad. Twitter seemed the most obvious and instant way since it was listed that his dad had at least two accounts there.

Speedily he signed up for the social media site and listed his details sketchily. It didn’t matter that he had no picture listed and nothing about himself, he wasn’t interested or intending to post tweets; the account was merely a means to an end.

He took a few minutes to investigate the site, seeing how it worked and how he could use it to achieve what he desired. There was a direct messaging service, where he could send a message to his dad’s account without releasing it to the general Twitter followers. He clicked on the button.

Two small rectangles popped up. In the first he typed his dad’s Twitter user name, bringing up the face which was becoming more familiar to him than his own. He moved the cursor to the next box. There was a number next to the box, 140, which he presumed stood for the amount of characters he would be allowed to use.

How could he say what he wanted in 140 characters? He doubted he would even be able to get the message out in 140 words let alone characters! And what was he to write? How should he begin? With some explanation about who he was? Too boring! His dad would probably not even bother to read further.

What if he said he liked his films? Surely that was something every actor liked to hear. But it reeked of a suck-up! He didn’t want to suck-up to him, he wanted him to know that he was his father!

He positioned his hands over the keyboard. He was over-thinking it. When he overthought anything it always turned out badly. Perhaps it was best to just go with impulse or gut reaction, whatever it was called. He typed.

‘Hi. You don’t know me. But you knew my mother, Anna Pertwee. I know that you will remember her even though it was a long time ago.’

 Poor Lucas ...he is in for a shock!

Happy Reading! 

The snippet below is taken from the book I am currently working on, where the main character believes Hugh Grant is his father.

His fingers trembled with a mixture of anticipation and fear as once more he typed in his father’s name. This time the plethora of images and references to his dad did not faze him. He found what he was looking for quickly and clicked on the tab.

Slowly he read the article to the end and then went right back to the beginning, reading it again, taking time to chew on the information before he interrogated himself to find out how he felt about it.

Hugh Grant had fathered another three children! Two boys and a girl, meaning that now Lucas had two younger half-brothers and a little half-sister. Neither of the two women who had borne him children were engaged or even married to him. He was as single now as he had been when Lucas was conceived. Surely this mean that his heart still ached for his one true love? That no woman could compare to the charms of Anna Pertwee?

Belatedly he wondered if his mother knew about her rivals for his dad’s affections. Did she know he had had other children? Was this just part of the secrecy? Part of the reason she was adamant that no good could come of him knowing his father?

There is a long way to go yet before this book is finished but I promise to keep you updated. In the meantime, check out The Owners volumes I-IV, available on Amazon.

Happy reading :)