The Owners Series

If you're a fan of my sci-fi series The Owners, you'll be glad to hear that I'm currently working on the ninth volume in the series. 

It's been strange to come back to the characters after such a long break, and having left them where they were at in Volume I: Alone. But the character of Sophia drew me right back in, not to mention San and Loni, who I had been eager to write about again. 

I'm currently a third of the way through Volume 9 so I won't spoil how the plot is evolving - suffice it to say that you're going to have quite a few surprises in store...

And I'm still working on my many film and TV series too. Again, my lips are sealed right now but there will be some news coming up soon. 

Until then, if you haven't yet tried one of my books, take a look at my REVIEWS page to the right of this post. 

Happy reading!

Back to work I go...

Today I have started back to work and am so relieved. As I told you before, I have to edit a couple of books already written prior to their publication, but I also want to write a book I started some time ago. The story is about a woman whose husband dies of cancer. But just before he does, he reveals something which tears her whole world apart...

Here is a little snippet:-

The Letter

Chapter 1

The house sucked at her energy. It drained her like a thirsty hiker on a hot summer’s day. She could feel it pulling at the blood in her veins, causing tidal waves of that vibrant red life-force to course through her to a never-achieved destination, moving ever onwards, ceaselessly searching out its well-worn pathway.

But of course it was not the house which drained her so. It was the situation within in.

Jim waited for her in another room. Weak and tired, waiting was what he did best now. Waiting was actually all that was left to him. Fran wondered what was left to her. What would be left when Jim was finally gone? A thin smell of sickness which seemed to have pervaded the entire house? The ripe smell of a cancer unchecked, which had permeated the paint and wallpaper of their bedroom? Was that all there would be?

Or would there be memories too? Memories which would linger to haunt her as if the images and sounds were captured within the porous brickwork and plaster, ready to be replayed whenever the whim took them?

It didn’t bear thinking about.  But she didn’t really need to ponder on it. The situation played itself out and she was just a bit player in every scene, the one who was necessary to breathe a little life into each act, to make it real and believable. The only one who would be left standing after the credits rolled and the curtains closed for that final time.

Funny how even after all these months it still didn’t seem real. She flicked the switch on the kettle and waited for it to boil. The kitchen seemed darker than usual and she glanced at the wall clock by the side of the back door. It was in the shape of a cow, mottled black and white paint depicting its legs and head, its torso taken up by the clockface which showed the hour to be six. But six am or pm? She genuinely did not know. The months and weeks since Jim’s diagnosis had blurred into one and in these last few days even the days and nights seemed interchangeable.

So if you enjoyed that little bit, take a look at the books I have already published - you won't regret it.

 

Happy Reading!

Which author[s] am I like?

I took a little bit of The Owners Volume I : Alone and input it into this analysing tool and according to this I write like H.P. Lovecraft.

This was the section I used :

The harsh sunlight, which pierced the window in its strong and direct glare, was now mellowed and softened in the burnished reflections of the polished wooden walls. The knots and imperfections of the wood resembling tiny worlds of intricacies, too complex to be fully understood.

In passing, he glanced through the window to find the view as breathtakingly beautiful as ever. An amazing variety of trees stood like proud sentinels around a spectacular natural lake. Trees stretched on into infinity in every direction – luscious light-green foliage appearing to vie with emerald and jade for the eye’s attention. Yet the trees also seemed to be collaborating with one another, joining forces in an attempt to outdo the drama of the brilliant blue sky reflected in the shimmering perfection of the silvery lake.

This scene, with its myriad colours and composition was so intense and so contrastingly stunning, it almost made San’s eyes hurt. Each tree was unique, either in size or shape or shade to its neighbour, just as the houses lodged within the heart of the tree, sitting snug amongst its highest branches were different. There were large tree houses and small ones, round ones and rectangular ones and even some which didn’t fit any one particular shape but instead were a weird blend of curves and angles.

Similarly the colours of the houses were all different. No, actually he thought, that’s not true. The colour was all the same – green – it was the sheer variety of shades of green which made them seem so dramatically different. Yet what struck San at that precise moment, was how each tree house conformed to and in fact complimented, the size and shape of the tree it was lodged in. It was almost as if each house had merged and blended with the branches to become a living part of its tree.  


Here it is http://iwl.me/s/147eabd8


Then I took this except from The Owners Volume III : Dark Side of The Sun and performed the same analysis :

Jack stepped into the darkness. Even in the seconds that his eyes took to adjust to the lack of light, he was aware that he stood next to Seth once more. There was a musty smell in the room. Dank and with the sharp acrid stench of urine, it was all he could do not to heave. Whoever was in the building had clearly given up all pretence of civilisation.

And they were aware of his and Seth’s presence. There was a vague sound of susurration, as if the person was making soft whisperings to themselves or another but it was too indistinct for him to make out its source or what was said.

“Step back slowly. Do not turn around,” Seth told him without moving.

“Why?” He knew he should probably just do as Seth suggested but having come this far, he wanted to know what they had found.

The susurration seemed to increase in response to his words, as if the person or persons were becoming agitated at the thought of them leaving. “This is why,” Seth slowly pulled a torch from his pocket and flicking it on, levelled it at the darkest corner of the room.

Hair tangled and knotted, what was left of the scalp hung down in front of the skeleton’s face. Whilst not strictly a skeleton, it was how Jack had to think of the body which was even now being hungrily devoured by the biggest pack of coyotes Jack had ever seen.  Bigger than the average dog, their normally lean bodies seemed fuller and longer than normal.


And this was the analysis  http://iwl.me/s/147eabd8



So far, so consistent. Now the biggie. What happened when I put in a section from Split Decision?

Here is the excerpt I used :

The atmosphere in the car was suddenly thick with sexual tension. I could feel all of them straining to hear my answer, listening with their groins rather than their brains.

A primitive fear coursed through me riding a tidal wave of doom. There was no right answer here, only a series of wrong answers. My heart pounded at the steel cage it was entrapped within, banged itself into the padded walls around it and no-one heard it scream. No-one but me. Whatever I answered, I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t! It was a circular route to Hell.

And the result? This time I wrote like James Joyce apparently!  http://iwl.me/s/d760c1b4



Then this excerpt from my current work in progress, The Plan :


Suzie regarded her companion with wide eyes. None of her friends spoke like this, it was not the type of conversation she was used to having but she liked the honesty of it, the cut and dried truthfulness.

And you will never guess who came out this time! Leo Tolstoy!

And the proof is here  http://iwl.me/s/698342ba

Does that mean I am split personality???

[I wonder what would have happened if I had cut and pasted all the different excerpts into one analysis...perhaps I would have blown the software to smithereens!]

I gave up running the analysis on the other books I have written. They are all diverse - just like me.

So who do I write like? Well I write like me, of course!

Happy Reading. 

Benidorm revisited...

In light of the fact that I have just booked a holiday to Spain, I thought I'd remind you of what happened the last time I was there.

So make a drink then settle yourself down for a read...

I have just returned from a holiday in Spain. Am I calmer after the break, more relaxed, less wound like a coiled spring? Probably not. For the truth is that the moment you are home, yes, literally that moment, it becomes clear how much you have to do just to get back on track with everyday life. All the lounging about and dipping into sun-dappled pools is nothing more than a memory and even that seems distant.

Add to this the fact that there were elements of pure fiasco during the holiday and I have to wonder if all the frantic organising was even worth it.

It certainly started with an adventure. I had pre-booked [and pre-paid] airport parking as that seemed like a sensible thing to do. But as I approached Birmingham Airport it became clear that Car Park 7 had no road signs leading to it, unlike numbers 1-6.

Not owning a sat. nav. anymore, [if you want the ludicrous story of how that was lost, you will have to go back to a blog post from about a year ago] I resorted to reading the directions I had printed out. Let’s just say I drove around the same island five times, each time taking a different exit, only to return defeated.

By this time my blood pressure was up, the kids in the back were starting to ask when the plane took off and would we be on it, and I was still none the wiser.

The time was fast approaching 5am when we were due to check in for our flight, and everywhere seemed deserted. There was no one around to even ask where I should have been heading.

In desperation, I pulled in to Car Park 1 and pressed the button on the intercom for assistance. I explained that I was lost and needed help to find Car Park 7. Unfortunately the disembodied voice didn’t seem to know where that was either! There followed an interminably long wait whilst he consulted a map and finally delivered the sage advice that I should, “Go back to the roundabout and pick up the signs for number 7.”

Defeated, I had to reverse the car out of the one-way system, invoking incredulous stares from the other motorists and head back to the same island I had already been around five times!

Since most of them led to other car parks, I chose the one route which didn’t and followed it for some time in the hope that it would be right. Guess what? I still didn’t find the car park I needed. I returned to the original roundabout. The time was 5:30am and I was in a cold sweat.

This time I pulled into car Park 5 and up to the intercom barrier. I pressed the button and waited. “Look I’m lost. I have paid for Car Park 7 but I can’t find it. I have been around and around… and if you don’t help me I am going to miss my flight and …”

I was cut off by a bored voice. “Oh, it’s you again. Didn’t you find it then?” Now don’t ask me why it never occurred to me that it would be the same man from Car Park 1, but it didn’t. Then to have him state the blatantly obvious was almost too much for me. I felt steam coming out of my ears. Very slowly, one vertebrae at a time, I felt myself turn towards the little camera that regarded me so intrusively. Behind my eyes I saw an image of how I must appear to him and I sharpened my gaze.

Before I could say anything I heard him clear his throat and say anxiously, “Wait there. I will get a supervisor to direct you.”

Wait there? Where did he think I was going to go? Round and round the roundabout on a pleasure jaunt, whirling suitcases and children from the car window in wild abandonment, in the hope that some of them would land close to the terminal and might actually make it to the plane?

Finally a supervisor arrived. It took only a short conversation for him to see that by now directions were going to be lost on me. He opened up the barrier and let me park, for which I will be eternally grateful.

By the time we got to the duty free shops, all my previous cares had been forgotten. Almost. Gleefully, my ten year old daughter and I sampled the perfumes and the make-up, drawing on our hands thick lines of every colour available.

Now lots of cosmetics claim to be waterproof… but few actually are. In the toilets, I lathered up my hands and worked at the smears of green and blue and red, rubbing and scraping at my skin. The make-up refused to dissolve and wash away but it did move, smearing itself over both hands, so that it looked like I had been bare-knuckle boxing with Mike Tyson. Again and again I washed my hands, each time more frantically than before, cursing under my breath so that I must have looked more than a little like a modern-day Lady Macbeth. All that was needed was for me to shriek, “Out, damned spot!” and I might even have got an Oscar.

So as usual we ended up making a frenzied dash for the plane, with me trying in vain to hide my monstrous looking hands from everyone. I took solace in the family pack of chocolate raisins I had bought for the journey, doling them out for myself and the children.

It was a turbulent flight, particularly noticeable when on one jolt, I dropped several of the sweets and they clattered softly to the floor. Embarrassed, I tried to pick them up and dispose of them – no mean feat when the seating space seems to have been modelled on the dimensions of mankind from the 1950s, when men were trim and women had waists, but I got most of them up.

It was only when I uncontorted myself that I discovered the people across the aisle were watching me in fascination. It seemed they thought I was so panicked about the turbulence that I had adopted the safety ‘brace’ position.

Safely ensconced in my seat once more, I hoped that I had finished providing them with free entertainment. But I’m afraid the show was not yet over. It was only when I stood up to go to the toilet that I realised not all of the chocolate treats had fallen to the floor. Some had slipped onto my seat, becoming effectively squashed and melted under me.

Do you have any idea what a few squashed chocolate buttons and raisins look like when congealed to the seat of your jeans? Mortified, I blazed a trail to the toilets, cheeks crimson and with the sound of my children’s guffaws still ringing in my ears. I may never live that memory down.

I had booked a hotel in Benidorm because of the dates we needed to have and the price I was happy to pay, added to the fact that I wanted a hotel which was close to the beach and which offered nightly entertainment. Now at this point are you all shaking your heads? I thought so.

And to be honest Benidorm was everything people say it is. But it is also beautiful, with long sandy beaches where the sea is both warm and crystal clear and fish swim unafraid around your toes.

Cloistered within the walls of our hotel by night, there was none of the anti-social behaviour that might have been acted out on the streets and many clubs and bars of the town, but there was still that flavoursome sense of excitement, that in the warm air, scented with exotic flowers and coconut suntan lotion, anything might happen…

I even managed to convince myself that I could look as enticing as Halle Berry famously coming out of the sea in one of the James Bond movies, so I tried it. Hair slicked back by the tide, bikini rucked up to cover my most wobbliest of bits, I emerged, white and short limbed from the foamy waves.

The film score which was playing in my head, stuttered and died as I caught my big toe on a rock concealed under the water. Pain shot up my foot and I stumbled, feet flailing under the water, trying to find purchase and finding only the rock. Again. I went down like a lead balloon, hair straggling over my face and inhaling a great lungful of salt water.

But this holiday also provided a number of firsts for me. I had never taken the children abroad on my own before and it was a bitter-sweet experience. I sat alone watching the nightly entertainment, my teenage son off messaging his friends on Facebook and my daughter playing with new friends, and although the shows were on the whole very good, I felt I cut a rather pathetic figure, there on my own. This was highlighted during one of the acts, when a comedian picked on me as being clearly alone in a swarm of huge family groups and asked what my name was, where I was from and whether I was married or not.

Reluctantly giving the answers, I was dismayed to be asked more; how old was I and did I have children? Giving the answers as I did, starkly and without embellishment, I almost felt like I was on a game show dating site:- ‘And now here’s Carmen, all the way from the Midlands, give her a cheer! Carmen is single, 48 and has three children!’

So when the Adele tribute singer came on, perhaps you will forgive me for shedding a quiet, surreptitious tear at my aloneness.

In general though, the entertainment was really good and my thanks go out to JJ Jones who was the Neil Diamond Tribute and to Andy, the Rod Stewart tribute, who were both photographed with my newest novel, Split Decision. [See earlier posts]

In particular I must mention the fact that JJ Jones donates all proceeds from the sale of his CDs to a charity in remembrance of his daughter.

But my most enduring memories of this holiday? Well apart from the looks of purest joy on the faces of my children, it would have to be sitting on the balcony with the strains of Spanish music played on an acoustic guitar, filtering up from below. The music seemed to play with the noise of the passing traffic like a cat with a mouse, sometimes feigning passivity, at other times being assertive, taking control and bending the other noise to its will.

Spain is the land of my grandfather, the origin of my name and so perhaps it is a part of me in a way that I almost can’t define. Looking at my children, I now think it may well be a part of them too.