My link to Amazon is now up and running however BlogSpot is still having issues logging on posts. Please bear with me.
What I would like to talk to you about today is something I feel very strongly about and something which I know you do too. I want to talk about the Rolf Harris situation and people who are like him.
But this blog post is not just for the adults, indeed I am aware that a large number of children read my posts and so today, this is exclusively for them.
My younger readers.
Summer is here and its warm outside and the nights are lighter for longer and you want to be out with your friends...I get that, my children are exactly the same. So when your mum or dad tells you to be home by a certain time, it can seem like they just want you to be bored at home and not out having fun!
And anyway you are safe, right? You are with your friends and there are lots of you and besides you are nearly 10 or 11 or...
Let's get one thing straight - your age doesn't matter. You are still a child. And your parents DO know best!
We live in an increasingly dangerous world. It is not the world that I, or your parents, or many other people would wish it to be but it is the real world. Your parents know and understand this and that's why they want you home at a certain time. It's not because they are evil and want you to be as bored as them, it's because they are worried for your safety.
When I was your age I was always warned to watch out for 'bad men'. Well I am telling you now there are bad women too! And they come in all shapes and sizes, all colours and nationalities and most importantly, all ages!
Don't just think that its younger adults who might pose a threat to you...some of them could be older than your grandparents. Evil young people don't disappear in a puff of smoke before they get older. They age just like everyone else. So just because its an old man who suggests you walk up the road with him, don't think this is safe to do!
TELL YOUR PARENTS!
And one more thing kids - don't grow up too fast! I know the world has moved on since I was a child but its a universal fact that kids can't wait to be older.
[It's funny too 'cos once you are older you will spend all your time trying to stay young :)]
Whilst you are a child, play like a child, talk like a child and this comes from the heart, dress like a child. Leave the little tops and the short skirts for when you are much older and don't fight with your parents when they stop you trying to wear clothes that are too old for you.
You only get one shot at being a kid, so enjoy it!
Here is the number of Childline, a helpful organisation 0800 1111
http://www.childline.org.uk/Pages/Home.aspx
If you are in America you should call 1-800-4ACHILD.
Monday, 14 July 2014
Friday, 11 July 2014
AARGH!
I have spent the last two days TRYING to update this blog! I now have a review page and a BUY IT HERE section, although this will not format correctly at the moment due to an internal server problem with BlogSpot. So please bear with me and I will rectify it asap.
In the meantime, if you want to purchase my books you can use the VIEW AND BUY link listed under my pages.
Many thanks!
In the meantime, if you want to purchase my books you can use the VIEW AND BUY link listed under my pages.
Many thanks!
Monday, 7 July 2014
Hello again folks!
Just a quick post to let you know that The Boy Who Rescues Pigeons is now half-written. [Working Title]
This is where Lucas is just about to rescue his first bird. I hope you like it.
Carmen x
It was an almost eerie experience, walking home along familiar roads whilst everyone else was still in school. With no reason to rush, he walked at his usual pace.
Had the streets been filled with other children he might not have seen it. Had he walked this particular path just an hour later, it might have been too late.
At first he thought it was a piece of rubbish on the road – a discarded crumpled up newspaper or chip wrapper – but as he approached it moved away, cowering from him, drawing its injured body inwards to shield its already broken and battered wings from further harm. A bright red crescent of blood bloomed around its neck and across the area between its wings where feathers and skin had been ripped away to expose the fine muscles beneath.
Terrified, it huddled into the side of the kerb as he towered over it, too terrified to drag itself away, too terrified not too. He saw the indecision flicker under its brightly beaded eye. But more than what he saw, it was what he felt that crushed his heart.
This bird had been beaten and savaged by life – just as he had been. It didn’t much matter who or what the perpetrator had been, a car, a cat or even another, bigger bird…what mattered was that life had dealt this creature such an unkind blow and left it abandoned here to die like a piece of trash, discarded and disposable.
With no awareness of what he was about to do, Lucas carefully scooped the pigeon into his arms, trying to avoid touching it where it was wounded. It tried to flutter away from him, chest heaving in frenzied gasps, beak wide open in a soundless scream. Inside his head Lucas heard its cry. It was a strangely human sound, full of sorrow and misery and desolation.
Only as he brought the bird to his chest, resting it against the beating of his own heart did he recognise the source of the scream. It was his own.
Just a quick post to let you know that The Boy Who Rescues Pigeons is now half-written. [Working Title]
This is where Lucas is just about to rescue his first bird. I hope you like it.
Carmen x
It was an almost eerie experience, walking home along familiar roads whilst everyone else was still in school. With no reason to rush, he walked at his usual pace.
Had the streets been filled with other children he might not have seen it. Had he walked this particular path just an hour later, it might have been too late.
At first he thought it was a piece of rubbish on the road – a discarded crumpled up newspaper or chip wrapper – but as he approached it moved away, cowering from him, drawing its injured body inwards to shield its already broken and battered wings from further harm. A bright red crescent of blood bloomed around its neck and across the area between its wings where feathers and skin had been ripped away to expose the fine muscles beneath.
Terrified, it huddled into the side of the kerb as he towered over it, too terrified to drag itself away, too terrified not too. He saw the indecision flicker under its brightly beaded eye. But more than what he saw, it was what he felt that crushed his heart.
This bird had been beaten and savaged by life – just as he had been. It didn’t much matter who or what the perpetrator had been, a car, a cat or even another, bigger bird…what mattered was that life had dealt this creature such an unkind blow and left it abandoned here to die like a piece of trash, discarded and disposable.
With no awareness of what he was about to do, Lucas carefully scooped the pigeon into his arms, trying to avoid touching it where it was wounded. It tried to flutter away from him, chest heaving in frenzied gasps, beak wide open in a soundless scream. Inside his head Lucas heard its cry. It was a strangely human sound, full of sorrow and misery and desolation.
Only as he brought the bird to his chest, resting it against the beating of his own heart did he recognise the source of the scream. It was his own.
Friday, 4 July 2014
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!
Thursday, 3 July 2014
Carmen's Recommendations
I have received no payment for these recommendations nor will I.
Recommendations are given purely on a personal experience basis and cannot be held against me in any way should the experience provided/service you receive fall short of your expectations.
TJ Wheels for refurbishment of alloy wheels and repainting of kerbed wheels. Foxoak Street, Cradley Heath, West Midlands, B64 5DP 01384 566056. These guys know what they are doing!
They also do powder coating and shot-blasting.
http://www.autoinsider.co.uk/local/car-accessories-and-parts/ai_25856.php
Wade guttering for cleaning or repairs to your guttering. Polite, helpful and reasonably priced 01527 528352.
This post will be updated as necessary.
The legal bit.
The following are businesses, services and/or people I recommend to do a good job.I have received no payment for these recommendations nor will I.
Recommendations are given purely on a personal experience basis and cannot be held against me in any way should the experience provided/service you receive fall short of your expectations.
TJ Wheels for refurbishment of alloy wheels and repainting of kerbed wheels. Foxoak Street, Cradley Heath, West Midlands, B64 5DP 01384 566056. These guys know what they are doing!
They also do powder coating and shot-blasting.
http://www.autoinsider.co.uk/local/car-accessories-and-parts/ai_25856.php
Wade guttering for cleaning or repairs to your guttering. Polite, helpful and reasonably priced 01527 528352.
This post will be updated as necessary.
Tuesday, 1 July 2014
Monday, 30 June 2014
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.
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 :)
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 :)
Thursday, 26 June 2014
My poor character Lucas has a dilemma.
I know exactly how he feels! There are only a few weeks until the summer hols and I have so much to think about and do. Well to be perfectly honest if I spent less time thinking about it I would probably have more time to actually do it!
Anyway look out for the list of my book signings/author talks which I will be posting soon and also for my list of personal recommendations which I am currently working on.
I hope to also have some interviews to post soon - busy, busy, busy!
Until then - Happy reading! :)
He took a long time folding his own
clothes and putting the new ones on. Normally he would have just abandoned his
clothes to the changing room floor but today was different. Today everything
was different and he needed the time and solitude to try to work out in his
head what he should do.
I know exactly how he feels! There are only a few weeks until the summer hols and I have so much to think about and do. Well to be perfectly honest if I spent less time thinking about it I would probably have more time to actually do it!
Anyway look out for the list of my book signings/author talks which I will be posting soon and also for my list of personal recommendations which I am currently working on.
I hope to also have some interviews to post soon - busy, busy, busy!
Until then - Happy reading! :)
Today I am frantically working on The Boy Who Rescues Pigeons [this is only its working title] and thought you might like a little snippet.
Here is the very latest bit:-
Anna didn’t respond with words. Instead she reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “She was an old lady Lucas. She had her time. And it’s far less a tragedy that she died than if you had.”
In some ways this is quite a difficult story to write. My own grandmother, the late Margaret Saez has been used as a template for the feisty Valerie and whilst it is always nice to reminisce, it brings its own sorrows. I hope I do justice to her character.
Happy reading!
Here is the very latest bit:-
Anna didn’t respond with words. Instead she reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “She was an old lady Lucas. She had her time. And it’s far less a tragedy that she died than if you had.”
Lucas was shocked. “How can you say that
mum? She was your mother?”
Anna nodded, not halting or slowing her
stride in any way. “Because it’s nature. Because the old should always precede
the young, because no mother wants to outlive her own child …and believe me
your gran would have been the first to agree with that sentiment!”
In some ways this is quite a difficult story to write. My own grandmother, the late Margaret Saez has been used as a template for the feisty Valerie and whilst it is always nice to reminisce, it brings its own sorrows. I hope I do justice to her character.
Happy reading!
Sunday, 22 June 2014
It seems that Antonio Banderas has split with his wife Melanie Griffith and so another Hollywood couple bites the dust! I can't even begin to image how strange life under that kind of spotlight must be, the constant rumours, the inquisitiveness of strangers over the intimate details of the split...and ultimately how much strength of character it must take to get right back up and go out in public once more.
Most of us when we face a break-up in a relationship, are able to do so in relative anonymity. Our friends are told and our families but the shame of a failed relationship stops there. The cashier at the supermarket doesn't know, the waiter at the pub your girlfriends take you to for a consolation drink doesn't know and the teller at the bank most definitely doesn't know. But imagine for one second that they did. Imagine that everyone knew all of the sordid details - it's enough to make your skin crawl, isn't it?
That's why I found Judy Finnigan's comment in the Daily Express quite strange. Judy composed an article about how only two weeks after filing for divorce, Melanie Griffith had turned up at an Italian film festival with her estranged husband's name blanked out of the tattoo on her arm.
Ms Finnigan thought it strange that Griffith had only covered up the name [possibly with make-up] and had left the rest of the heart shape intact. Ms Finnigan went on to surmise that perhaps the stunt was no more than a hint that Griffith is prepared to accept her husband back in her life.
Well maybe, maybe not. My own take on it comes from a very different perspective. Maybe in blanking out his name Melanie hoped to show that there was a hole in her heart [figuratively speaking of course, I do not mean to imply that she needs cardiovascular surgery]; maybe she was even hoping to show that there was a vacancy there.
Perhaps she wanted to show that she was brave enough to just get on with things, that she still had a heart even if Antonio Banderas no longer resided in it, either figuratively or not.
Or maybe...just maybe...and I could be clutching at straws here....maybe she just liked her tattoo even if she no longer liked the man whose name used to reside at the centre of it!
Either way, give the lady a break! Breaking up is hard enough without everyone having an opinion.
Happy reading!
Most of us when we face a break-up in a relationship, are able to do so in relative anonymity. Our friends are told and our families but the shame of a failed relationship stops there. The cashier at the supermarket doesn't know, the waiter at the pub your girlfriends take you to for a consolation drink doesn't know and the teller at the bank most definitely doesn't know. But imagine for one second that they did. Imagine that everyone knew all of the sordid details - it's enough to make your skin crawl, isn't it?
That's why I found Judy Finnigan's comment in the Daily Express quite strange. Judy composed an article about how only two weeks after filing for divorce, Melanie Griffith had turned up at an Italian film festival with her estranged husband's name blanked out of the tattoo on her arm.
Ms Finnigan thought it strange that Griffith had only covered up the name [possibly with make-up] and had left the rest of the heart shape intact. Ms Finnigan went on to surmise that perhaps the stunt was no more than a hint that Griffith is prepared to accept her husband back in her life.
Well maybe, maybe not. My own take on it comes from a very different perspective. Maybe in blanking out his name Melanie hoped to show that there was a hole in her heart [figuratively speaking of course, I do not mean to imply that she needs cardiovascular surgery]; maybe she was even hoping to show that there was a vacancy there.
Perhaps she wanted to show that she was brave enough to just get on with things, that she still had a heart even if Antonio Banderas no longer resided in it, either figuratively or not.
Or maybe...just maybe...and I could be clutching at straws here....maybe she just liked her tattoo even if she no longer liked the man whose name used to reside at the centre of it!
Either way, give the lady a break! Breaking up is hard enough without everyone having an opinion.
Happy reading!
Last night I watched The Hunger Games and absolutely loved every moment of it. Although the story was vastly different from my own books, there were parallels with The Owners, Volume I which could not be ignored.
In fact a strange thing happened. During the break for the adverts, an extensive clip of the new Planet of The Apes film, Dawn of the Apes, was shown and I made a startling discovery.
The Owners is almost where Planet of the Apes meets the Hunger Games... I really wish I could explain this more to you but if I did I would ruin the plot so I guess you had better get reading it for yourself!
The weather is gorgeous today. Leave the household chores, they will still be there tomorrow when the sky is grey and filled with rain.
Let today have its moment of glory. Sit in the garden with a good book [preferably one of mine of course!] a glass of what you enjoy and relax! You only live once and time is fleeting.
Happy reading!
In fact a strange thing happened. During the break for the adverts, an extensive clip of the new Planet of The Apes film, Dawn of the Apes, was shown and I made a startling discovery.
The Owners is almost where Planet of the Apes meets the Hunger Games... I really wish I could explain this more to you but if I did I would ruin the plot so I guess you had better get reading it for yourself!
The weather is gorgeous today. Leave the household chores, they will still be there tomorrow when the sky is grey and filled with rain.
Let today have its moment of glory. Sit in the garden with a good book [preferably one of mine of course!] a glass of what you enjoy and relax! You only live once and time is fleeting.
Happy reading!
Sunday, 15 June 2014
Today I had another idea for a new book...now whilst this is always good news, it comes at a rather busy time. I am desperately trying to finish the chick-lit book I have been asked to submit the full manuscript for, I am still trying to edit and polish my children's story and there are another 101 things on the go!
On top of all that I have spent the entire weekend revamping my garden. I have re-mortared the patio [yes, I KNOW! ME!], decommissioned a compost bin and bagged all the toxic waste in it which had refused to rot away and singlehandedly confounded the entire bunch of male council workers at the local tip.
You see, after I bagged up nine sacks full of muck, I had to get rid of it somewhere, so I drove to the tip.
"Garden refuse?" I enquired politely and was pointed to the correct metal container. So far, so good. But the railing at the top of the steps is high and I am quite small, so not all of the stuff which then had to be tipped out of the bags, actually found its way into the skip thingy. But I felt strong and empowered so I carried on.
Two bags later, two burly council men came over at a trot [they might have run if they had been able I suspect], faces pale and rather worried looking.
"Er, you can't put that in there!" one of them said, trying to wrestle the bulging black binbag from my grasp.
I found myself holding fast onto the plastic sack much like it was a Victoria Beckham bag filled with Cartier jewels.
"But it's stuff from the compost bin that didn't compost," I muttered angrily. Was it my fault that my ploy to save the earth had not come to completion?
"But there is all sorts in there!" he said, still holding fast to his end of the bag.
And to my shame he dipped his hand in and came out with a plastic crisp packet.
So the question is, since to my knowledge, the only person who ever put anything in the composter was me and since crisps and I are fairly mutually exclusive, who put all the plastic packets in the composter?
Miss Marple where are you when I need you?
Happy reading!
On top of all that I have spent the entire weekend revamping my garden. I have re-mortared the patio [yes, I KNOW! ME!], decommissioned a compost bin and bagged all the toxic waste in it which had refused to rot away and singlehandedly confounded the entire bunch of male council workers at the local tip.
You see, after I bagged up nine sacks full of muck, I had to get rid of it somewhere, so I drove to the tip.
"Garden refuse?" I enquired politely and was pointed to the correct metal container. So far, so good. But the railing at the top of the steps is high and I am quite small, so not all of the stuff which then had to be tipped out of the bags, actually found its way into the skip thingy. But I felt strong and empowered so I carried on.
Two bags later, two burly council men came over at a trot [they might have run if they had been able I suspect], faces pale and rather worried looking.
"Er, you can't put that in there!" one of them said, trying to wrestle the bulging black binbag from my grasp.
I found myself holding fast onto the plastic sack much like it was a Victoria Beckham bag filled with Cartier jewels.
"But it's stuff from the compost bin that didn't compost," I muttered angrily. Was it my fault that my ploy to save the earth had not come to completion?
"But there is all sorts in there!" he said, still holding fast to his end of the bag.
And to my shame he dipped his hand in and came out with a plastic crisp packet.
So the question is, since to my knowledge, the only person who ever put anything in the composter was me and since crisps and I are fairly mutually exclusive, who put all the plastic packets in the composter?
Miss Marple where are you when I need you?
Happy reading!
Wednesday, 11 June 2014
Hello again!
I have been extremely busy editing today. In fact I have edited so much, I have already had about fourteen cups of coffee and four squares of chocolate and it's not even lunch time!
[And ok I know the chocolate does not help the editing process in any way but let's just pretend!:)]
I thought I should have a break before my head exploded and I was going to use this time to take the dogs for a walk but then I decided to update you a little instead...so where should I start?
Quite a lot has happened recently. I have been approached by a very new publishing company who are interested in one of my children's stories. Since this still requires extensive editing [what MORE editing?] I have shelved the project for a few weeks whilst I get on with what I need to do first of all, which is get the current book I have been working on up to a certain standard.
But what I really want to tell you about is yesterday, when I conducted my author talk at the Women's Institute.
I had never been to a WI meeting before and felt strangely excited at the prospect. The WI holds a strange fascination - images of a secret ceremony reminiscent of the Mason's was almost what I expected, symbolic vestments and ritualistic handshakes what I was on the look-out for and animal-sacrifice what I almost feared!
Instead of any of those things I found a group of exceptionally pleasant and welcoming ladies, who discussed events with the easy familiarity of long-held friendships.
A slightly older audience than I am used to, they were nonetheless attentive and interested with a notable exception. One elderly lady, well into her late-eighties either fell sound asleep during my discourse or actually died. It was a toss up between the two as to which was the most likely outcome.
Now I am not known for my boredom factor, so I surmised that this narcolepsy must have been due to the lady's age rather than the sound of my dulcet tones, however it did make me start when I looked up from reading my book excerpt to find her with her head rolled forward onto her chest and looking as pale as parchment.
"Oh God, someone get a mirror and let's check if she is breathing!" I wanted to shout but casting my gaze around I found that I was the only one who was wide eyed with panic...clearly this was not a one-off event.
I struggled to continue the reading, worried about the welfare of my elderly listener. So when another of the ladies drifted off, I knew I was done for! I kept my eyes on the page and stifled the giggles that threatened to well up in me.
I think it was only the applause at the end which roused them [or perhaps the vibrations restarted their hearts, who knows?]
But even so they were a truly wonderful group of women and if I ever get to their advanced age, I hope someone lets me nap when I am tired :)
I know the rest of the group enjoyed the talk immensely and I even gave them an extra laugh at the end of the session, when leaving my car in their car park, I popped over to the supermarket a few minutes away and then had to return to the car with two heavy shopping bags in tow, wearing a white summer dress in the sudden torrential downpour.
They drove past me out of the car park, literally rolling in their seats at the sight of the stupid, never-quite-in-the-real-world author with her hair plastered to her scalp and her dress stuck to her skin...
And as for the two old ladies who fell asleep? Well I will forever remain in their memories as that young author with the relaxing voice...
Happy Reading. :)
I have been extremely busy editing today. In fact I have edited so much, I have already had about fourteen cups of coffee and four squares of chocolate and it's not even lunch time!
[And ok I know the chocolate does not help the editing process in any way but let's just pretend!:)]
I thought I should have a break before my head exploded and I was going to use this time to take the dogs for a walk but then I decided to update you a little instead...so where should I start?
Quite a lot has happened recently. I have been approached by a very new publishing company who are interested in one of my children's stories. Since this still requires extensive editing [what MORE editing?] I have shelved the project for a few weeks whilst I get on with what I need to do first of all, which is get the current book I have been working on up to a certain standard.
But what I really want to tell you about is yesterday, when I conducted my author talk at the Women's Institute.
I had never been to a WI meeting before and felt strangely excited at the prospect. The WI holds a strange fascination - images of a secret ceremony reminiscent of the Mason's was almost what I expected, symbolic vestments and ritualistic handshakes what I was on the look-out for and animal-sacrifice what I almost feared!
Instead of any of those things I found a group of exceptionally pleasant and welcoming ladies, who discussed events with the easy familiarity of long-held friendships.
A slightly older audience than I am used to, they were nonetheless attentive and interested with a notable exception. One elderly lady, well into her late-eighties either fell sound asleep during my discourse or actually died. It was a toss up between the two as to which was the most likely outcome.
Now I am not known for my boredom factor, so I surmised that this narcolepsy must have been due to the lady's age rather than the sound of my dulcet tones, however it did make me start when I looked up from reading my book excerpt to find her with her head rolled forward onto her chest and looking as pale as parchment.
"Oh God, someone get a mirror and let's check if she is breathing!" I wanted to shout but casting my gaze around I found that I was the only one who was wide eyed with panic...clearly this was not a one-off event.
I struggled to continue the reading, worried about the welfare of my elderly listener. So when another of the ladies drifted off, I knew I was done for! I kept my eyes on the page and stifled the giggles that threatened to well up in me.
I think it was only the applause at the end which roused them [or perhaps the vibrations restarted their hearts, who knows?]
But even so they were a truly wonderful group of women and if I ever get to their advanced age, I hope someone lets me nap when I am tired :)
I know the rest of the group enjoyed the talk immensely and I even gave them an extra laugh at the end of the session, when leaving my car in their car park, I popped over to the supermarket a few minutes away and then had to return to the car with two heavy shopping bags in tow, wearing a white summer dress in the sudden torrential downpour.
They drove past me out of the car park, literally rolling in their seats at the sight of the stupid, never-quite-in-the-real-world author with her hair plastered to her scalp and her dress stuck to her skin...
And as for the two old ladies who fell asleep? Well I will forever remain in their memories as that young author with the relaxing voice...
Happy Reading. :)
Tuesday, 10 June 2014
Hello folks!
Just a quick post as I have an author's talk to conduct today. Here is the link to my recent interview.
http://t.co/4vtsMEm39L
Happy reading!
Just a quick post as I have an author's talk to conduct today. Here is the link to my recent interview.
http://t.co/4vtsMEm39L
Happy reading!
Saturday, 7 June 2014
A quick note before I dash off through the door! A brilliant new author called H. J. Lawson has just interviewed me for her website.
More information will follow about this author and her work but for now here is the link to the site where the interview will appear very soon. http://www.hjlawson.com/
I promise to catch up with you soon.
Until then,
Happy Reading!
More information will follow about this author and her work but for now here is the link to the site where the interview will appear very soon. http://www.hjlawson.com/
I promise to catch up with you soon.
Until then,
Happy Reading!
Thursday, 5 June 2014
OH NO!!!!!
I had to post this to give you a laugh.
My latest book The Plan [working title only] is very different to everything I have written before and so when I took this excerpt :-
...and pasted into the writing analysis tool, I wondered what would come out. Apparently here I have written in the style of Dan Brown [The Da Vinci Code]. Now that's not good, is it?
Happy reading!
My latest book The Plan [working title only] is very different to everything I have written before and so when I took this excerpt :-
The door was wooden and heavy and looked as if it had been
put there millennia ago to deter intruders. Hand on the handle she strained to
listen for voices from within but the door was too thick for any sound to
escape the confines of the inner rooms.
It took both hands to swing the door open and hold it wide
enough that she could pass through. There was a small foyer and another door
which led from there to the large parquette-floored hall. The other door was
open, held ajar by a wooden table littered with flyers and pieces of paper.
Unintentionally she let the front door swing from her hands,
wincing as it made a heavy clang back into its frame, the sound echoing across
and throughout the sparsely furnished building. And in that instant of reveal
she saw them turn their heads and gaze at her, the newcomer, the seeker of
thinness, the new apostle to the book of diet…she saw them drink her in
hungrily like so many vampires trapped in a morgue.
Happy reading!
Monday, 2 June 2014
Back at work! Yippee!
Here is the latest paragraph hot off the press of my newest novel. I am currently working on Chapter 6 so lots still to do.
If you like dancing and you like a rom-com then this will be the book for you. If you like YA, sci-fi, fantasy, dystopian and/or post-apocalyptic genres, then check out my Owners series on Amazon. Just type my name into the author search bar and you will find the first 4 of The Owners books...more on their way!
Happy reading!
Here is the latest paragraph hot off the press of my newest novel. I am currently working on Chapter 6 so lots still to do.
“Do you remember the film Dirty Dancing?” Indie
asked.
Suzie tilted her head to the side. “Are you
saying I can’t dance because I’m not a skinny little thing like “Baby” was?”
She thought of the slimness of the actress who had played the female lead. A
strong gust of wind could have blown her away. No-one would ever have said the
same for herself!
“No I’m saying that what “Johnny” said to
her was true for you too,” Indie replied.
“No-one puts Baby in the corner?” Suzie
asked thinking of the tight corner she had literally just spun herself into.
Indie laughed delightedly at the joke. “No
idiot! When he told her she had to feel
the music not just hear it!”
“OH!” Suzie realised Indie
was right.If you like dancing and you like a rom-com then this will be the book for you. If you like YA, sci-fi, fantasy, dystopian and/or post-apocalyptic genres, then check out my Owners series on Amazon. Just type my name into the author search bar and you will find the first 4 of The Owners books...more on their way!
Happy reading!
Monday, 26 May 2014
Well what an education Saturday was!
My almost 14 year old son had read that he could have his PlayStation controller customised for free by renowned graffiti artists if he took it into Birmingham City Centre on Sat 24th March.
Being part Scottish [and therefore 'careful' with money ;)] this sounded like an interesting idea to me and so train tickets in hand, we set off for the City.
This might not sound like a big thing for many of you reading this blog but believe me when I say that Bromsgrove town centre in no way compares to the hustling, bustling city it sits just beyond the fringes of.
Even though I once lived in Birmingham for over a decade, I am filled with a sense of wonder whenever I approach near enough to be drawn into its overwhelming aroma of perfumed shoppers, designer bags clutched at the ready, which sits comfortably atop a miasma of poverty, the two placed in juxtapositions to one another like a bad oxymoron.
It was raining. Hard, sharp rain which seemed to blister the sky with its anger. The sort of rain that soaks you in under a minute flat. The graffiti artists were in a modified cubicle outside, the queue already almost half a mile long by the time my son joined it.
My daughter and I left him to it, promising to return in half an hour to judge his progress. Little did we know it but this was to be a recurring theme throughout the day as it took just over five hours for him to get to the front of the queue.
During this time my daughter and I wandered the shops, I had a makeover [it used up at least ten minutes of the time and amused my daughter] and we got caught up in the Gay Rights Parade. I hadn't know that this was on and so was amazed at the sheer volume of people who lined the streets to watch it pass by.
I am a traditionalist as perhaps you know from my writing but I do uphold a belief that no one system of beliefs has any more right to exist than another. I actually don't care what people's sexuality is. What I do care about is that they treat each other with respect and dignity and receive the same in return. So therefore I have to say that whilst I understood the desire for the march and as some might protest, the 'need' for it, I would have preferred that it had been a little more tastefully done, a little less pantomimed as it were...
Brazilian dancers with costumes which left nothing to the imagination, men in drag, women in jackboots, men wearing nothing but a pair or underpants and a smile...it was all there. I watched the audience with curiosity. Had they all stumbled upon the parade as I had? Unlikely! The crowd was far too huge for that to be a probability. I saw same sex families with young children [adopted perhaps?] held aloft, the more traditional male/female pairings with young children, gay couples of both denominations and groups of heterosexual men and women ...and to my knowledge and undying pride, not a foul word was spoken by any of them. And it brought a lump to my throat.
Across the world people slay other people, they fight in brutal, bloody wars over little scraps of land or ideals that demand tyranny and oppression of the masses...and yet here was Birmingham being open and accepting and liberal and I loved how it made me feel!
So well done Birmingham! Well done all you Brummies. You rock!
Happy reading.
My almost 14 year old son had read that he could have his PlayStation controller customised for free by renowned graffiti artists if he took it into Birmingham City Centre on Sat 24th March.
Being part Scottish [and therefore 'careful' with money ;)] this sounded like an interesting idea to me and so train tickets in hand, we set off for the City.
This might not sound like a big thing for many of you reading this blog but believe me when I say that Bromsgrove town centre in no way compares to the hustling, bustling city it sits just beyond the fringes of.
Even though I once lived in Birmingham for over a decade, I am filled with a sense of wonder whenever I approach near enough to be drawn into its overwhelming aroma of perfumed shoppers, designer bags clutched at the ready, which sits comfortably atop a miasma of poverty, the two placed in juxtapositions to one another like a bad oxymoron.
It was raining. Hard, sharp rain which seemed to blister the sky with its anger. The sort of rain that soaks you in under a minute flat. The graffiti artists were in a modified cubicle outside, the queue already almost half a mile long by the time my son joined it.
My daughter and I left him to it, promising to return in half an hour to judge his progress. Little did we know it but this was to be a recurring theme throughout the day as it took just over five hours for him to get to the front of the queue.
During this time my daughter and I wandered the shops, I had a makeover [it used up at least ten minutes of the time and amused my daughter] and we got caught up in the Gay Rights Parade. I hadn't know that this was on and so was amazed at the sheer volume of people who lined the streets to watch it pass by.
I am a traditionalist as perhaps you know from my writing but I do uphold a belief that no one system of beliefs has any more right to exist than another. I actually don't care what people's sexuality is. What I do care about is that they treat each other with respect and dignity and receive the same in return. So therefore I have to say that whilst I understood the desire for the march and as some might protest, the 'need' for it, I would have preferred that it had been a little more tastefully done, a little less pantomimed as it were...
Brazilian dancers with costumes which left nothing to the imagination, men in drag, women in jackboots, men wearing nothing but a pair or underpants and a smile...it was all there. I watched the audience with curiosity. Had they all stumbled upon the parade as I had? Unlikely! The crowd was far too huge for that to be a probability. I saw same sex families with young children [adopted perhaps?] held aloft, the more traditional male/female pairings with young children, gay couples of both denominations and groups of heterosexual men and women ...and to my knowledge and undying pride, not a foul word was spoken by any of them. And it brought a lump to my throat.
Across the world people slay other people, they fight in brutal, bloody wars over little scraps of land or ideals that demand tyranny and oppression of the masses...and yet here was Birmingham being open and accepting and liberal and I loved how it made me feel!
So well done Birmingham! Well done all you Brummies. You rock!
Happy reading.
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