Influential Observation with Catherine Cavendish

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An Elford Childhood, Catherine Cavendish, Dark Observation, Doris Buttery, Elford, Flame Tree Press, Horror, New book, writing

My Greatest Influence BY Catherine Cavendish

Since I’ve been fortunate enough to be a published writer, I have met many others and once of the first things I discovered is that I wasn’t alone in having been the nerdy schoolgirl who used to inwardly cheer when our English teacher would set us an essay to write for homework. I especially hugged my inner creative embryo when we were given no clear parameters as to what that essay would centre on. Sometimes it would be a line from a poem which could be interpreted in a myriad of ways. On other occasions it would be an emotion we had to express – be it joy, sorrow or whatever. All around me, my fellow students would groan while I wanted to do that Mary Tyler Moore thing with my (ridiculously old fashioned) school hat.

For decades I believed I was the only one who ever felt like that. What a relief to discover I wasn’t.

I should have realised it really though because while there have been and still are a host of people I count as influences on me and on my writing, there is one who stands head and shoulders above the rest.

Her name was Doris May Buttery. She was born on 23^rd October 1920 and passed away on 13^th March 2018 – and Doris was my Mum. She loved to write.

When I was a little girl and, okay, I’ll say it first, that was a long time ago, one of my enduring memories is of Mum sitting at the dining room table, her pencil sharpened, lost in her own world as she busily transcribed memories of her childhood, growing up in a small Staffordshire village between the two world wars, onto sheets of lined foolscap paper. 

While Mum wrote, I would play with my dolls or my cat, Penny. I would make up stories, read, let my imagination run free…

And day after day, once her chores were done, Mum would write. She had a small win on the Football Pools and used to it to pay for a creative writing course where she learned the art of short story writing. I still have at least some of those stories. They were fiction but always, somewhere, there lurked a grain of truth. Invariably set in the 1920s or 1930s there would be a character in there that I would later come to identify in her memoirs. Sometimes she would write about a scandal that I would later discover had actually taken place – although the names and some identifying details had all been changed.

I can’t remember exactly when she stopped writing. But for years, maybe a decade or more, the pencils and foolscap were put aside only for her to return one day and pick up where she left off. This became a pattern. Days and weeks of daily writing followed by months and years of none. From her childhood she moved onto recollections of the war years 1939-1945 when she served in the Auxiliary Territorial Service (ATS) – the British women’s army of the time. Sadly, she didn’t get too far with these but the account of being a naive eighteen-year-old office girl joining up (against her father’s wishes) immediately casts the reader back to those far off years. Mum could certainly create atmosphere and a sense of time and place in her writing.

Meanwhile, I had caught the writing bug. Watching her may have been the catalyst, or perhaps it was simply because she enjoyed it. Some of those school essays of mine grew into short stories; one eventually morphed into a novel. Mum encouraged me while my father considered my desire – at around eight or nine years old – to purchase a portable typewriter as a complete waste of time and money. I bought my typewriter, selling a number of toys in order to do so. The rest, as they say, is history.

After Mum passed away, I found the folder I knew existed and opened it. There were Mum’s childhood memories. These eventually became a published book An Elford Childhood .

Mum never ventured down the path of supernatural, ghostly or scary stories. Nor did she attempt a crime story – although in her later years especially, crime fiction was by far her preferred genre. She did, however, tell me that she had always enjoyed a good spooky book when she was younger so maybe that’s where I get it from. I also enjoy crime – real or fictional and Agatha Christie was a shared passion of ours.

Mum left me a legacy of a love of reading and writing, history and cats. Wherever she is now, I hope she is enjoying a good book, with a cat purring on her lap, a notebook and pencil by her side and a nice cup of tea.

As for my latest? Well, I hope Mum would approve. There is an awful lot of her in one of my main characters – Vi  – and then of course there’s her hero,Winston Churchill, those secret underground war rooms and…

Eligos is waiting…fulfil your destiny

1941. In the dark days of war-torn London, Violet works in Churchill’s subterranean top secret Cabinet War Rooms, where key decisions that will dictate Britain’s conduct of the war are made. Above, the people of London go about their daily business as best they can, unaware of the life that teems beneath their feet.

Night after night the bombs rain down, yet Violet has far more to fear than air raids. A mysterious man, a room only she can see, memories she can no longer trust, and a best friend who denies their shared past… Something or someone – is targeting her.

Dark Observation is available here:

Flame Tree Press

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Waterstones

Bookshop.org (where you can support your favourite local bookshop)

and at good bookshops everywhere (on the shelf or to order)

About The Author

Following a varied career in sales, advertising and career guidance, Catherine Cavendish is now the full-time author of a number of paranormal, ghostly and Gothic horror novels and novellas.

Her novels include: Dark Observation, In Darkness, Shadows Breathe, The Garden of Bewitchment. The Haunting of Henderson Close, The Devil’s Serenade, The Pendle Curse an Saving Grace Devine.

Her novellas include: The Darkest Veil, Linden Manor, Cold Revenge, Miss Abigail’s Room, The Demons of Cambian Street, Dark Avenging Angel, The Devil Inside Her, and The Second Wife

Her short stories appeared in a number of anthologies including Tomes of Terror, One of Us and Haunted Are These Houses.

She lives by the sea in Southport, England with her long-suffering husband, and a black cat called Serafina who has never forgotten that her species used to be worshipped in ancient Egypt. She sees no reason why that practice should not continue.

You can connect with Cat here:

Catherine Cavendish

Facebook

Twitter

Instagram

Goodreads

Images:

Shutterstock

Nik Keevil and Flame Tree Studio

Author’s own

Where O’Roarke’s Destiny ends… the playlist for Wryson’s Eternity …

Tags

Cornwall, Music, Music to write books to, New book, Romance, Shehanne Moore, Smugglers, writing

https://t.co/h63dNJgnz5

SHEY —- BUT WHO WOULD WANT TO?

SHEHANNE–Okay dudes can I get a word in now? It’s taken a while but drumroll and fanfare–a playlist means there will soon be a new book. Book two of Cornish Rogues featuring a hero and heroine, who I think you might get the drift of from some of these song titles. There’s also a couple of classicals thrown in that feature in the book, Bach’s Goldberg Variations

and a Mozart. And the Cyrin version of Where is my Mind? is also something I play. Both leads are certainly looking for their minds. Of course it should have been ‘Where is My Hamster?’ but then ‘Gone I hope,’ might be the reply. To return to Mercury and the Architects, Mercury does indeed sing with the Architects, one of whom is the amazing LYNZI on the list in her own right with Be My Valentine.

I hate to break it to you dudes, but that is the least of your worries this week. Vodka has just been removed from the shelves of several UK supermarkets…. I say nothing about your little dance that always accompanies it. But ere you despair there’s two song titles here for you, ‘Far Far’ which is where you might want to go and ‘Creep’….. Now, I will ‘put on playlist’ and listen to it…

McGonagall’s Ghost…still working the crowd.

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Dundee, New York, poetry, William McGonagall, Writers and Social Media, writing

William Topaz McGonagall a Scottish poet of Irish descent, writer of roughly 200 poems, including “The Tay Bridge Disaster” and “The Famous Tay Whale”, which are widely regarded as some of the worst in English literature.

ONE……..A writer with a voice that took uniqueness to a whole new level.

TWO….. A true journalist in terms of reporting everything.

THREE…. He self published.

FOUR… He was shameless when it came to self promotion.

FIVE.. Proving there was no such thing as bad publicity. And could you imagine him on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter today?And the use he’d make of it?

SIX…. He was deeply into public appearances in terms of meeting his fans.

SEVEN … He also did literary dinners. And bestowed himself briefly on New York, as other famous authors including Charles Dickens

and Oscar Wilde had.

‘Oh mighty city of New York, you are wonderful to behold,

Your buildings are magnificent — the truth be it told.’

…….’When I go to Ireland, they won’t treat me as I was treated in New York. In the streets there when they looked at my poems with the Royal coat of arms, printed on the top, the Yankies shouted ‘To the deuce with that.’ ………..W McGonagall. ….

EIGHT He was very well read for a man from a poor family quite important for a writer and prepared even more therefore to branch out…

NINE…. He rubbed shoulders with the famous.

TEN….. Like him or loathe him he has not only remained a controversial figure to this day, he has stood the test of time.

ELEVEN.. Before ve open vodka and do cossack dance for you, McGonagall’s Ghost is Track 12 on More Than Seven Wonders. More to follow once the Archie Foundation get the online buy link live, but presently available from Oxfam Books and 13 Records in Dundee.

Carolyn Haynes, Bewitched and a Beloved Star

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Bewitched, Carolyn Haynes, Lloyd Haynes, Room 222 B, Sol Saks, writing

‘Have you ever seen one of those dramatic moments in a film when two people meet, and all the noise in the room disappears?’

CAROLYN. Yes, it was at Hugh Hefner‘s party, and I was there to meet Hugh and his then-girlfriend Barbie Benton. I don’t think I ever believed in love at first sight until that evening. Even then, it took some time before I realized the thunderbolt was love. LOL During my conversation with Lloyd, I asked him what he did for a living, and he told me he was a bra salesman. Considering where we were, I thought business must be good. Besides, Lloyd was too convincing for me to laugh out loud, so I just stared quietly. LOL 

CAROLYN. Lloyd Haynes, the lead actor of the 1970s TV show Room 222. The show had premiered a month earlier, and I missed it and didn’t know who Lloyd was. Despite that evening we weren’t together right away. It was quite a long journey.

CAROLYN. I started as a child with dancing, ballet, piano, voice, and modeling lessons. Then appeared in a few children’s shows, sang with on-camera personalities. I still have newspaper clippings that my mother saved. I grew into television, films, sang in a few clubs, and Lloyd and I almost toured together as singers, but my family came first.

CAROLYN. Yes, after Lloyd died, I wasn’t ready to go back to acting, and working with Sol Saks became available.

CAROLYN. Yes! I’ve been in the process of writing a book on Bewitched for the last two years now. I’m editing at the moment and hope to find a publisher with more clout to launch the book.

CAROLYN. Over the years, people asked questions regarding Lloyd and growing up in the Hollywood area. Then, one day a dear friend suggested I write a book. I was reluctant, but she convinced me.

I prayed a lot and began the four-year adventure that I surprisingly enjoyed. With the success of my first book, I then had the honor to write a book for Sol Saks. Though he did ask me a couple of times while we worked together, I couldn’t imagine writing in those days. 

CAROLYN Thank you, dudes. I hope it’s a book that people enjoy reading. The best advice I received on writing I learned from Sol Saks. During the years we worked together, I took pages of notes on the advice he gave university students, his regime, and experiences writing for newspapers, scripts for radio, television, and books. His words explain it so much better than I can, and I believe I’ve captured the advice in this new book. 

ABOUT CAROLYN

A native of Los Angeles, California U.S.A. and born into a large fun-loving Italian family, I had the good fortune to grow up in Montrose, California and New York. I have been blessed with four wonderfully talented children, worked as an actor, assisted Mr. Sol Saks of “Bewitched” with his writing projects, continued my formal education, and traveled. Now, “Help for Angela,” my first true short story has just been published and Imy special biography, “The Lloyd Haynes Story.” Samuel Lloyd Haynes, notably known for his staring depiction of Pete Dixon on “Room 222,” is a look at an extraordinary international, multicultural, and sometimes controversial soul that I think you will enjoy.

CONNECT WITH CAROLYN HERE

https://twitter.com/carolyngrace505?lang=en

https://www.facebook.com/carolynhaynes5050

https://thelloydhaynesstory.wordpress.com/

https://amzn.eu/3oNCik6

Lloyd Haynes, the beloved star of critically acclaimed 1970s television series Room 222. A visceral story of unyielding love and epic valor, as we follow Lloyd Haynes remarkable journey from a family mortuary to stardom, military officer, and recognition from the U. S. Senate. “With all those gorgeous women around, what made his eyes seek-out yours? Or, did you seek-out his?” Alison Bogert A MUST READ- SUPERBLY WRITTEN – The Tribune

The Ball’s the Thing

Tags

writing

ANNA KARENIN   Leo Tolstoy .  The ball scene.

“The ball had just begun when Kitty and her mother stepped on to the central staircase, which was bathed in light and embellished with flowers and powdered footmen in red livery. From the interior came a steady rustle of movement which filled the rooms like bees buzzing in a hive, and while they adjusted their hair in front on a mirror between the potted plants on the landing, the delicately clear sounds of the violins in the orchestra could be heard striking up the first waltz in the ballroom.”

Shey. As Silv just said there –sorry, just let me let go of her paws–I am on my 8th book and when that’s done there will have been a ball, or dance scene in six of them. I was uncertain re this latest one whether the ball would actually take place but on reflection, I am big on what ball scenes in books can offer. You can blame the scene in Tolstoy’s Anna Karenin for that. It’s not only a case in point being the first time Vronsky and Anna really eye each other up, leaving Kitty standing. The lavish description of the ball, of Kitty descending the staircase, full of starry eyed hope was like a beacon to me when I read that book. An eternity ago now but even now, I can remember it. Before that, talking balls? Well, there was Cinderella. I used the idea of Cinderella shamelessly in Splendor. The second ball scene –yes there’s two– is the big pivotal moment where she finds out the whole truth about the hero and runs, realising there’s things she can’t manage—managing things being her biggest strength and greatest flaw– and things she can’t lay on him either, leaving her glove on the stairs. Of course I thought the shoe might be a bit much, as would hamsters pulling the coach.

I’m sure you were asked but you fell under the wheels and that is why you are crushed. Sadly.

A ball also gave scope for when he loses her in a complicated dance set, mirrorring the maze of hopelessness he then lives in for months, and the contrast between this glittering world and the one facing her, if she doesn’t ‘manage’ this evening and that of her ex fiance, now begging in the gutter outside.

But the first ball scene was ideal for the hero really noticing what’s been under his nose and that’s her, as opposed to the awkward, clumsy, accident-prone, woman who has faced him as a man across a pair of duelling pistols and a chessboard. From the liveried footmen to the shining chandeliers, balls are such glittering occasions, all kinds of magic can be at work. Especially when neither partner can dance and they don’t want anyone knowing either.

I dunno dudes, you tell me. In the Viking and the Courtesan, Malice decides to confront her husband in a similar glittering scenario, after he’s set the law on her for services unrendered re a little biz she runs– a move that backfires spectacularly when, having failed to recognise her, he then kidnaps her at fork and knife-hurriedly-nicked-from-the-kitchen-point, after she tries to insist that the pillow she’s stuffed up her skirt is far more than that; all to the tune of a Mozart minuet.

‘Since you were low enough to ask us, naturally we were low enough to come.’

Miitchell Killgower cuts his’ ball’-breaking ex sister-in-law and aunt by marriage, short at the start of the ball scene in the Writer and the Rake. A ball she’s thrown in the middle of a bitter inheritance dispute, in order to expose the fact his ‘wife’ in his sham marriage has been missing presumed vanished off the face of the earth for weeks. It’s another pivotal moment where the heroine discovers that Morte, a man roughly five years older than herself is in fact her ten times great grandson and aged a thousand, and has her revolting feet admired by Francis Dashwood,—the actual founder of the Hellfire Club. Balls are also a great place to introduce real historical figures.

Again, neither hero nor heroine can dance, except the latter on a 21st century nightclub floor. But they’ve had a lot of fun learning–a good chance to sort of get together–with the help of Mitchell’s polar opposite teenage son, who he’s finally liking. Alas, all before Brittany learns from Morte, exactly what she’s doing wrong about getting back to her time. Sob, sob as the dudes would say.

Nor do balls have to be grand society affairs as in these three books. In Loving Lady Lazuli the fact the ball was set in Assembly Rooms in a small town, and held for everyone regardless of class, on Christmas Eve, was a good excuse to delve into a more rustic affair, with children jigging on the upstairs landing and farmer’s wives unpacking pot luck suppers. And the perfect scenario

for the heroine to go for broke with an I am Spartacus moment about who she really is. Or rather an ‘I am Sapphire,’ after she’s gone round nicking every thing she can lay her hands on and dump it on the floor, because the hero intends betraying her so what does it matter? It’s also the perfect scenario for him to show exactly the man he really is and finally admit his feelings for her.

There’s no grand ball in His Judas Bride either. Not in the wilds of Scotland at that time. There’s a supper party/ dance, where the heroine learns that her drunken, womanising, horror of a husband-to-be may have other sides to him–he’s an ‘awfie guid cook, when he lays aff the nips’ apparently. But there’s still no way she can marry him, after he insists not just on dancing with her but in her showing off the fine dancing skills she’s allegedly learnt in ‘Edinboro.’ With the emphasis on the word ‘allegedly’ and every step of what she’s making up, under the nose of her betrothed’s brother, a man nothing gets past, reminding her of the abuse she suffered for years in a prison cell, she also learns it’s time to run, as in ‘now’,

thus setting up the rest of the book.

SO yes, after much debate the current WIP does have a ball scene. Why the uncertainty? Well, that it’s being held in an abandoned house, by two people on the run and even the food on the guests’ plates is of course

nicked and not a bowl matches a plate, should be answer enough. Also I didn’t want to go for another world crashing in ruins ball scene. But equally, if a world is going to crash…….

, where better to let it fall than on a ballroom floor?

So, there you go, balls in books, balls in films. From Scarlett O’Hara leaping forward to….raise money for the ‘noble’ cause., with Rhett Butler, Anna and the King of Siam, to Maria getting up close and personal with Captain Von Trapp–AND, let’s not forget one I forgot until Rene reminded me in the comments, Jezebel where Bette Davis loses her lover over a red dress. Even if there’s no ball, there’s dancing, the romance of Dirty Dancing, of Strictly Ballroom.

So come on folks, tell me your fav ball or dance scene that way?

Oh come on dudes, just crack open the voddie and get on with the cossack dance will you?

Tea, toast, trivia podcasts and some manga news.

Tags

Mangatoon, podcast, writing

‘We are all the product of our experiences in life, of our upbringings, our hopes, dreams, failures, mistakes, needs, fears. Life shapes us and life is not always perfect.’ Shehanne Moore, Tea, Toast and Trivia podcast with Rebecca Budd.

Podcast.

Season 2 Episode 41: The Art of Romance with Shehanne Moore https://teatoasttrivia.com/2020/08/03/season-2-episode-41-the-art-of-romance-with-shehanne-moore/ via @chasingart

https://bit.ly/3arNB1H

https://mangatoon.mobi/en/detail/398527

 

 

 

Interview With the Cleanser.

Tags

books, Cornwall, Mystery, New book, O'Roarke's Destiny, Smugglers, Wreckers, writing, Writing tips

 

“Some say the Cleanser is an exciseman gone to the bad…..”

 

The Cleanser – That would be telling.

The Cleanser – That would be telling.

The Cleanser – That would be telling.

The Cleanser – That would be telling. Now, before I get back out there and prove even more terrifying and elusive, as I menace my way through Cornwall on dark and stormy nights, you have one more question. Do try and  make it count and not waste it on fripperies such as am I really that fearsome, am I one of the five,  or does Lyon eat hamsters? Who said what, and didn’t, how fair, or otherwise not, it is? And please do not interrupt. Have you any idea what happens to hamsters who interrupt, especially with more questions?

The Cleanser–Who, amongst you,  will be brave enough to ask this question?

The Cleanser. They are not amongst you. YOU are amongst you. Now ask or face the consequences.

The Cleanser – Dear, little hamsters, why else but to spread a bit of butter on you and have as toast.

 

But I will add that in a world of secrets and smugglers and did I mention unsavoury–not looking at anyone here, although you hamsters do smell a bit-

– wreckers, Shey rather liked the idea of  upping the anti. Who can, for example, resist having a tale of smuggling without the various ingredients? Don’t answer. You are not the ones being interviewed here.

So secret passages, treasure that is the stuff of legend, stormy nights, old houses, ghosts  and of course mythological  figures are all part of that tapestry. Shey thought about how in  Jamaica Inn the heroine does not know who the head of the wreckers is but obviously if her uncle is scared of him, then he must be fearsome because her uncle is that and more–although she used someone who is also the stuff of legend differently.

Things had begun to change for smugglers in the period O’Roarke’s Destiny is set, shall we say? 

Tom Berryman had behaved as if the devil had crossed his path and this one looked to have horns.

 

And let’s remember in this book nothing is what it seems. A little mystery does no harm sometimes.  As a figure the Cleanser does not drive the plot. There’s no need to when everything the leads do arises from the three magic writing words, where they and only they, are concerned, goal, motivation conflict.

Does the Cleanser really exist?  If they do are they one of the O’Roarke five and if so which one? That’s for me to know and you to find now. Now, if you don’t mind I believe I have some vodka to drink and a Cossack dance to  do before I get back to terrorising the locals? Oh and one last thing… my eyes are not flamingos, what they have is a flaming glow….

Releases Friday 13th…it is a book about a curse after all…..

 

 

From Prague to Arisaig via Glencoe …

Tags

Arisaig, CSOE, Czech Memorial Arisaig, Glencoe, Glencoe Corbetts, Morar, Operation Anthropoid, Prague, Scotland, SOE ww2 Training Arisaig, The Brecklet Trail, The Duror Trail, The Silver Sands, writing, Writing tips, WW2 SOE

 

MEESTER

 

 

MONSTER

 

 

ARISAIG. Shey on the rocks without a drink too… DAY ONE. The walk was to Rhu Point and back. Shey and the Mr were full of  day one walking anticipation, so they howfed the three and a bit miles there, then back again.

ARISAIG Shey on a moth-eaten swing. Strangely this was without a drink although you might not think it. The Highland Games Dance was yet to come….

ARISAIG A deserted set of swings without anything….

And a phone box somewhere in Glen Roy that took Shey’s fancy largely cos you can’t get a mobile signal… BUT MAYBE there’s a ‘ beam me up Scotty,’ story here, OR It’s the TARDIS… As you can see …many writing prompts here.

 

DAY TWO. Shey at the Silver Sands, Morar before she and the Mr clocked the incoming tide…. and had to walk miles back to the road… or water, lots of it would have been what they were drinking…

MORAR

DAY two the Silver Sands of Morar from a safer viewpoint.

DAY TWO Unperturbed by the diversion at Morar and dancing half the night away, Shey and the Mr drove to Glencoe and tackled the Duror Trail feeling very brisk and loving the joys of walking. So much so they even walked along to Am Torr and back later before howfing it into the Boots Bar.

Glencoe

GLENCOE DAY 3. Despite the sun now beating down Shey and the Mr. set off to bag Meall Mor. From 1500 feet already up –on a forestry road to Ballachulish no less–  with the last bit, straight ahead there, through the bog, round the sheep fence, through the gate   and up the slope, just to go, what could be simpler.  In Glencoe, there is no such thing as simple…

 

The view looking down from the top was quite something.

As for the five and a half hours all told it took Shey and the Mr to do the entire bagging-yes you can spot him there, thinking how one slip would result in him taking the express route down to Loch Leven…, while Shey tried a more zigzagging approach well….that was something too…

But returning…, or rather crawling back…to the Clachaig a surprise awaited. A bottle of lovely bubbly from the staff there for the wedding anniversary. So obvi this picture and all the ones taken after had a drink in them, in fact they had many,  and no wonder.

Now this as blogger Ralpha will know is THAT sign again which Shey, no longer so full of the joys of walking, but rather full of fizz and cask aged cider tried to vary pose-wise.

DAY 4. GLENCOE/BALLACHILISH. Despite outright rebellion in the ranks, the Mr fell into step and did the lonely, overgrown, Brecklet Trail where Ping Pong Monsters lurk….. Monsters that tasted delicious…….

Lessons learned from Jean Lee

Tags

Aionios Press, Fallen Princeborn Stolen, Jean Lee, Wisconsin, writing, Ya Fantasy novels

 

 

Jean  – Wisconsin breeds the fantastic.

We are home to peculiar, toothsome beasts like the Hodag, devourer of all-white bulldogs (or hamsters, if you’re not careful).

We are home to unique, word-some writers like Neil Gaiman: “There’s that tiny off-kilter nature in the Midwest that’s in the details,” he says when asked about writing here.

We are home to hidden towns, small growths of community where railroads and highways meet, places that no one finds unless they mean to find it. Picturesque, perhaps? Plainfield was indeed picturesque once—until Ed Gein was arrested in November of 1957. You may know the rest. Basically, Gein inspired many of the fictional horror icons we know today: Norman Bates, Leatherface, and Buffalo Bill are all rooted in the reality of Ed Gein.

We drove through the wild patches between the hidden towns often when I was a child. I never tried to occupy myself with books or toys in the car. There was too much to see, out there in those scattered homesteads, too much to wonder about. What happened inside that dying barn?

Why is that gravel drive roped off, and where does it lead? Where are all the people for those rusted cars littering the field?

This is the Wisconsin I live in now. The land dips and rises in unexpected places. The trees may crowd a rural highway so much you can lose yourself driving, only to have the tunnel burst open to sunshine and a white-crested river running beneath a bridge you’d swear had never seen a car before. In the small farming town of my youth, I could stand on the lone highway through town and hear snowflakes land beneath the orange street lights.

The short stories began as a writing experiment last year. My husband had been listening to John Carpenter’s Lost Themes, and a story began to shape in my head of a child dying at the hands of a cuddly creature before a dark skulking thing gets involved. When I showed the short story to my publishers, they encouraged me to write more short stories as little introductions to the universe of Charlotte and these imprisoned shapeshifters. Thus Tales of the River Vine was born, with stories following both antagonists and protagonists across the years.

The challenge with such “prequels,” as they are, was to find emotional centers without chipping away at the emotional arc of Fallen Princeborn: Stolen. Take the last story of the collection, “Tattered Rhapsody.” Originally I intended the story to be called “Dirty Charlie,” featuring Charlotte the Wise-Ass taking on some gang members at her high school for profit. I even had little hamsters involved in the fight, bringing a gang member down after he crashes on their cages. I don’t think I have to tell you what these hamsters were named… 😉

But the story felt wrong. I couldn’t pin it at first. Charlotte’s there, she’s showing her strength, her protective instincts for her kid sister. And yet, the story felt…heartless.

Then it hit me: Charlotte’s heart doesn’t speak with her fists. It speaks with her music.

And just like that, the story’s heart found a pulse, a rhythm both despairing yet defiant. Just like Charlotte.

(Don’t worry—two hamsters still manage to make a cameo in the tale.)

I hope you enjoy reading “Tattered Rhapsody” and the other Tales of the River Vine and telling me what you think. They’re all FREE on Kindle, Nook, and other publishing platforms!

Three years ago, you may as well have asked what it’s like to juggle three bowling pins with spikes on fire.

Back when I was trying to write in bedlam, I stole whatever time I could before dawn. The television usually bought me at least an hour in the day to outline, draft dialogue, or keep up with my blog. The children’s naptime never felt long enough, but I made due. Once the boys began preschool, I could at least promise myself one hour of writing time a day. Doesn’t sound like much, does it? But that’s the thing about writing and keeping a job and running a household: every minute to write’s a blessing. Sometimes those days crash and burn. Other times—like when the boys didn’t have school—we found other ways to be creative.

Now that Blondie, Biff, and Bash are in school all day, I always have time for writing, be it for the blog, editing, drafting, etc. Granted, summer’s still a trial, but because I didn’t give up on writing when time was scarce, I have many stories to share here in the daylight hours.

Honestly, not many. I studied in Ireland for a summer, and checked out important places in James Joyce’s life. While this was definitely cool, I was downright ecstatic to drive to Illinois and see the wardrobe that helped inspire C.S. Lewis when he wrote The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Nostalgia played its part, I’m sure, but it was also a real thing connected to a fantasy. How often does one see and touch real doors to another world?

Research can feel like a big time-suck, but when it comes to publishing, DO YOUR RESEARCH! There are so many scammers out there with their “author services” and “exclusive anthologies.” They’re going to talk you up, make you feel amazing, and before you know it you’ve paid four digits for lousy editing on a slap-dash affair no one’s going to see. Scope out the small presses. Join author groups online to gather recommendations for editors, book designers, and cover artists. Your story deserves to be seen, but only when it’s ready.

Yes, an author platform really does help. Don’t think of it as yet another time suck; rather, treat it as the regimented prose exercise. Reading countless other voices, writing tight posts on a regular basis—all helps the craft, not hinders it. No, it’s not the novel you dream hitting the best-seller list, but making a website, commenting on social media—these simple actions give your name an author’s history. Other writers/publishers/agents/readers can trace your name back to studies, comments, and whatever else you write. You build that platform, you build a writer’s resume for the publishing business to see.

Yup, that’s a while ago, but life tends to fill the years, and in my case, I had just become a mom. Postpartum depression hit hard. Very, very hard. I felt very cut-off from life. I couldn’t feel the joy of motherhood. I found myself often staring out a window, trapped in walls yet somehow exiled outside of feeling. I’d look upon my sleeping baby and feel nothing but guilt because I couldn’t feel complete with motherhood.

Then a friend introduced me to the awesome challenge that is National Novel Writing Month. From November 1^st-30^th, you are to write 50,000 words of a story not yet started (that’s cheating. Outlines are permissible, though.). The story may need more than 50K words, but what matters is that you reach that length in thirty days.

I swung it that year, and felt AMAZING. I was escaping the trap, driven to feel with characters outside of this world. I couldn’t just sit and dwell on individual lines or plot points—I had to keep going, and because I had to march on in the narrative, I found myself marching on in real life, too. I wasn’t staring out the window waiting for minutes to pass. I was…I was back, you know? I felt a part of life again, enjoying the touch of my daughter’s tiny hands around my finger and her boundless grey-blue eyes. I reveled in these things. I felt…complete.

 

 

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We interrupt abnormal service……

Tags

Black Wolf Books, Jewel thieves, Never giving up or in, Newbook, re-released book, Splendor, Starkadder Sisterhood, writing

 

I woke up on with pneumonia and flu on New Year’s Day to discover that, contrary to having six books out, I now only had two, after one of my publishers had removed the books of all us foreign authors, without actually telling us.

The first thing in order for me to have any hope of seeing these books, which represented hours of work, out there again was to get my rights back. Even as I fought that corner I was busy planning on setting up my own wee publishing house, Black Wolf Books, to publish these books, that of Mr Shey and any other authors I saw getting a raw deal. Oh.. and recovering from pneumonia and flu.

Plans took a step back when these backlist books had an invite to a new home–oh and did I mention there was the broken rib and the eye haemorrhage? AND let’s not forget the Mr’s play which I directed– Anyway, I was dancing on air to feel wanted, that my books were worth something,  after New Year’s bombshell NOT to mention the fact that backlist books can be notoriously hard to find  a new home for unless you DIY them. Or you’re some mega huge, rich best seller, in which case, you’d be better off DIY’ing them frankly so you’d be even richer.  And I concentrated instead on using that steep learning curve of formatting, cover size, cover designers and the world of Fiverr, you name it, to put out my Mr’s book. Oh and finish my seventh one, O’Roarke’s Destiny.

But feeling nice and wanted and being able  to ‘swank’  doesn’t sell books. Two weeks ago, I made a decision regarding the four backlist or orphaned books and my present unpublished book.  That was to let no more grass grow and revert to my original plan certainly for the four backlist books…

Yep….  AND Basically having sworn this

 

 

 

My new cover for Splendor arrived on Friday, after I bought the license half price in a Labor Day sale and gave it to a Fiverr designer at a damned good price, the next. A cover I feel represents the actual book.  Any expected hiccups–delays rather–  re me being the copyright owner did not materialize when I uploaded the final formatted book to KDP, later that day. My advice there is to make sure your license and copyright page is correct when a book has been with a publishing house.

I can now announce that as of yesterday Splendor is on ebook preorder for a pretty good price 99p and 1.29c.  AND she will also be available for the first time in print–October 1st. (Handing that to Fiverr formatter this week…) I’m hoping that Starkadder Sister, Sapphire, will be joining her on the 1st, that  they will be partying together. And that I have very good reason to clear the decks on these four books right now. If I don’t, I don’t. Its certainly made me focus on this decision.

So sorry for interrupting the dudes’ service…

What can I say about this writing business? Mainly? That even when you’re there as I thought I was in 2012 when I landed my first contract and entered the world of websites and twitter, signing contracts electronically and burning oil till 4 am to finish edits on time because your publisher is breathing down your neck for them, while writing your next book, you’re not. Once the happy dance dies down you’re on a pretty rickety ride. The important thing? Even when you hit all kinds of obstacles and brick walls, stay on the bike, adapt, change, whatever it takes. Just don’t ever give up. Not if you want to get there. Oh…AND Mr will be here next post I promise.

I even get a blurb that reflects the book….

He hates to lose. Especially to a man who’s not.

One move to win ten thousand guineas in a chess competition. One move to marry her fiancé.  Another to face the most merciless man in London across a pair of duelling pistols.  For Splendor, former skivvy to the London’s premiere jewel thieves, it’s all in a day’s work. But when one wrong move leads to another, can she win and keep her heart intact against the one man in London with the potential to bring her down? Especially in a chess game where the new wager is ten thousand guineas against one night with her.

The Endgame to end all Endgames

One move to pay back his ex-mistress. One move to show the world he doesn’t give a damn he’s been beaten in every way. The ton’s most ruthless heartbreaker, bitter, divorcee, Kendall Winterborne, Earl of Stillmore’s, pet hates are kitchen maids, marriage and losing.  Knowing Splendor has entered a male chess competition under false pretences, he’s in the perfect position to extort her help, regardless of the fact she’s engaged to someone else.  He just doesn’t bank on having to face up to his pet hates.  Certainly not over the kind of skivvy who ruined his father and set him on this course.

As one move leads to another, one thing’s for certain though. His next move better be fast if he wants to keep the Cinderella he’s fallen for. But the clock is ticking. When it strikes twelve, which man will she choose?