tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35079011429714590842024-03-13T00:08:03.997+00:00Jayne FerstThis is a blog about writing a novel. Posts exploring London often creep in around the edges as well as posts on social history, book reviews, vintage, nostalgia, poetry, and the occasional Grand Plan.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.comBlogger551125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-85928114574972746512015-02-19T08:34:00.000+00:002015-02-19T08:49:38.425+00:00Helen Lederer's Losing ItThe first time I met Helen was at her Christmas party a couple of years ago (or, to give it its full and proper title, the Best Christmas Party Ever). I was there because my writer buddy extraordinaire, <a href="http://nutpress.co.uk/blog/" target="_blank">Kathryn Eastman</a>, is friends with Helen, and I'd been invited along as the friend of a friend. I stood behind Kath at the front door, feeling a bit nervous and shy, wondering what Helen would be like, and then the door opened and light spilled from the house, illuminating a petite blonde lady in a beautiful black dress.<br />
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'Kath!' Helen said, giving her a huge excited hug before turning to me. 'You!' she said, giving me the same hug. It was the most perfect way of making me feel instantly at ease and thoroughly welcomed - and, after meeting Helen a few times, this is exactly what she is always like - warm, fun, and totally lovely.<br />
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And now I have her debut novel Losing It in my hands. The story revolves around the character of debt-ridden, divorced, and totally desperate Millie, who, at the age of fifty-something, has been given the opportunity to rid herself of financial woe by losing weight. However, being the front-woman for a promotional diet feature may not be the answer to happiness that Millie is banking upon! Losing It is laugh-out-loud funny, wickedly observant, and is every bit as entertaining as the author herself. Helen's personality simply shines through the pages.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Book launch the First</td></tr>
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The first book launch, or rather, the pre-launch blogger's party, was held at Blacks Club in Soho, London. Blacks is hidden within one of those elegant addresses on Dean Street - a house that still looks like it did in its Georgian heyday. The party started at 4pm, and as we were ushered downstairs to the basement bar, it was like each step had swiftly transferred us through time from a quiet afternoon into a raucous evening already at full-swing. A crowded room of laughter, wine, and book chat awaited us, and it was great to catch up with <a href="http://cescamajor.com/" target="_blank">Cesca Major</a>, to say hello to her literary agent, <a href="https://twitter.com/cpwally" target="_blank">Clare Wallace</a>, and to meet new folk such as Jane, the lady behind the great blog <a href="http://www.mymidlifefashion.com/" target="_blank">My Midlife Fashion</a>. I blame Cesca in an entirely nice way for highlighting the macarons laid out for the party, which led to a chain of thought that was simultaneously happy (oh wow, these are the best macarons ever!), sad (I am not a member of Blacks, how will I ever eat these again?) and slightly sneaky (can I make friends with a Blacks member solely to come back for the macarons?), thus revealing no doubt too much of my true personality.<br />
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Before I lose it entirely on a sugary tangent (see what I did there?) it was time to hear from the author. Standing on a chair, book lit up from mobile phone torches, Helen's speech was incredibly funny (which had nothing to do with the wine) and she gave a reading from the book. To my total happiness, this was recorded and look below to the right - it's me! In Helen's video! I am the lady wielding the wine glass (as a prop, you understand, but luckily not stuffing my face full of macarons; it was a close call). So from now on (in my mind) this video is Helen reading to me, an exclusive.<br />
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The second book launch, celebrating the fact that Losing It is out now in all good bookshops, was at the Hospital Club in Covent Garden.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Book launch the Second</td></tr>
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Another packed room full of warm celebration - people threading their way through the crowd to congratulate Helen, people happily flicking through the pages of the book, people gathering in excited circles to talk about Losing It. Here I had a lovely chat with the artist <a href="http://www.jessicaecott.co.uk/" target="_blank">Jessica Ecott</a>, and it was good to see author <a href="http://www.djconnell.com/" target="_blank">DJ Connell</a> again, as well as a quick catch up with <a href="https://twitter.com/thekendrix" target="_blank">Katy Kendrick</a> and her friends. <br />
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So now Losing It has been well and truly launched, and I am enjoying reading about Millie's escapades. And with the book gaining accolades from such luminaries as Stephen Fry, Dawn French, Ben Elton, and Joanna Lumley, I'm in very good company indeed!<br />
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<b>Praise for Losing It</b> <b>by Helen Lederer</b><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><b>Stephen Fry</b> </span>- 'Desperately funny, desperately engaging, desperately readable and desperately adorable.'<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">Dawn French</span></b> - 'Helen Lederer is the third funniest woman in the world. Read this!'<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">Ben Elton</span></b> - ‘Helen is a wonderfully funny woman. I’ve known her for thirty-three years and always thought she should write a novel. She took her time but it’s worth the wait.’<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">Joanna Lumley</span></b> -‘A brilliant creation: scene after scene of blissful agony: savagely funny and I couldn't put it down.'<br />
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Read a <a href="http://nutpress.co.uk/2015/02/author-interview-helen-lederer-helens-losing-it-blog-tour/" target="_blank">fantastic interview with Helen</a> on Kathryn Eastman's Nut Press blog.<br />
Buy <b>Losing It</b> from <a href="https://www.waterstones.com/ebook/losing-it/helen-lederer/9781447267706" target="_blank">Waterstones</a> | <a href="http://www.foyles.co.uk/witem/fiction-poetry/losing-it,helen-lederer-9781447267645" target="_blank">Foyles</a> | <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Losing-It-Helen-Lederer/dp/1447267648" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | or local bookshops! Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-43861734475177036152014-10-20T16:01:00.000+01:002014-10-20T16:01:29.885+01:00The Frankfurt Book Fair<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<![endif]-->Never under-estimate the power of creating opportunities for yourself. If I hadn't been on <a href="https://twitter.com/jayneferst" target="_blank">Twitter</a>, I would not have seen posts about the <a href="http://www.writersworkshop.co.uk/events.html" target="_blank">Festival of Writing</a> in York. If I hadn't have gone to York <a href="http://jayneferst.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/the-festival-of-writing-at-york.html" target="_blank">that year</a>, I wouldn't have met the lovely author <a href="http://anikascott.com/" target="_blank">Anika Scott</a>, who lives in Germany. And if I had not met Anika, I wouldn't have been flying across to stay with her and attend the <a href="http://www.buchmesse.de/en/fbf/" target="_blank">Frankfurt Book Fair</a>. So, the moral of this tale is, as ever, eat lots of chocolate and drink wine, because doing both gave me the sugar rush and drunken confidence to start a Twitter account in the first place.<br />
<br />
Hooray for chocolate and wine!<br />
<br />
But before my tale of Frankfurt starts, a quick wave and hello, as it's been a while since I've blogged (pardon me) and I'm sorry for the while it has been. I never meant to go AWOL for so long, but it is frighteningly quick to get out of the swing of blogging. So let's strike while the smell of fresh books still hangs in the air, the furry costumes of manga cosplayers are being patched up for the next event, and somewhat scarily, I can still see Moomins when I blink.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ6t1t0NhgQfBIKLT9d_MKPuxI9qK3iHfjvwn6tHUl7-Lzp2qnS_3tmMosv9qeSO6vH13l_mxX4z65-sdlvA1fC5TCWZsLGRxNQPbI9oXEON2Wr-ROf7n7ZpnZvwyifTrul0F3g1wXA18/s1600/moomin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ6t1t0NhgQfBIKLT9d_MKPuxI9qK3iHfjvwn6tHUl7-Lzp2qnS_3tmMosv9qeSO6vH13l_mxX4z65-sdlvA1fC5TCWZsLGRxNQPbI9oXEON2Wr-ROf7n7ZpnZvwyifTrul0F3g1wXA18/s1600/moomin.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Moomin bus!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Yes, this year I went to the Frankfurt Book Fair. The largest trade book fair in the world. Over 265,000 people attended, all of whom love, adore, and possibly want to roll around in freshly printed books. (The latter may be just me. And it might be the sort of thing I shouldn’t mention in public. Whoops.) But first a caveat. I wasn't there to pitch my novel, or leap on a startled literary agent in the manner of peckish lion joyfully sighting an antelope. Most agents are tucked away in back-to-back meetings and the book fair is seriously huge. I saw this more as a reconnoitre mission, a chance to do some market research and get a feel for the publishing industry, peek a little behind the scenes.<br />
<br />
We rocked up on Saturday around midday, having left Essen at an ungodly dark hour clutching steaming cups of coffee, and book-dreamed as the train sped beside the trees and fairy-tale castles of the Rhine.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTHV_5aiTc71bTNnSfRK6MweSEBE9mN-n4i0ji8UT_7oNiyYHMegIAV7wFEvHWIAs9MAJmHQifdwHGEFkGqaVqL69iCKFYvRqtwopqdIKmciJm9CBjS5NsoyZhFGSr_e5aBv8NwitZ0wI/s1600/rhine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTHV_5aiTc71bTNnSfRK6MweSEBE9mN-n4i0ji8UT_7oNiyYHMegIAV7wFEvHWIAs9MAJmHQifdwHGEFkGqaVqL69iCKFYvRqtwopqdIKmciJm9CBjS5NsoyZhFGSr_e5aBv8NwitZ0wI/s1600/rhine.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you spot a castle?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb_sCNPiz4fLvsVbSPSGwVKAQ80zOhe871p8U5lV5n83c7e1J-TLAmviuB739xI3NE2TOOEg_bNHxcST7i1u-zmXM-EyxW-00aI_OSfumQqZs4esJfO7Q72Xt9I6rvaFEBp0OrZ1iYcf4/s1600/me-train.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb_sCNPiz4fLvsVbSPSGwVKAQ80zOhe871p8U5lV5n83c7e1J-TLAmviuB739xI3NE2TOOEg_bNHxcST7i1u-zmXM-EyxW-00aI_OSfumQqZs4esJfO7Q72Xt9I6rvaFEBp0OrZ1iYcf4/s1600/me-train.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On my way!</td></tr>
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I started to appreciate how vast the book fair was straight from the train, as it was clear I was not only entering a book fair, but a small book city. Each hall is huge and stuffed to the gills with stands, people, and of course, books. Books fresh from the printers. Books where, if you squint, you can still see the hopes and dreams of the author surrounding them like a sparkly aura.<br />
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A quick consultation of the map and we were away. One of our first stops was the UK and USA hall, collecting rights guides and 2015 catalogues. As well as getting excited about what books are coming up, both are great for studying blurbs – seeing what words pull me in as a reader, which words excite my mind. Also both give an indication of where the market is heading. I tend to write what’s in my heart rather than what I think the market would want, as by the time the book is finished things may have moved on anyway, but it’s interesting to see what sort of trends are out there. And this is all research you can do on home soil, too – visiting bookshops and libraries, chatting to sellers and librarians – but have to say it was super-lovely to be doing it in Frankfurt!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSofYWErwJlUs37UF5HvranlbZeqII5NcuHHD9S6kUstrwNe4bT_Z_pTN57uGhEXHep55Lxkdp1Czmxe7jT-5dfoC7VgEsg-sW4HfiJ_BnhQMbBBrkUtA0ZzNPmn3ccVYoQkr-aZWbgc/s1600/fair1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSofYWErwJlUs37UF5HvranlbZeqII5NcuHHD9S6kUstrwNe4bT_Z_pTN57uGhEXHep55Lxkdp1Czmxe7jT-5dfoC7VgEsg-sW4HfiJ_BnhQMbBBrkUtA0ZzNPmn3ccVYoQkr-aZWbgc/s1600/fair1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the book fair</td></tr>
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Bags considerably heavier, we had so much fun soaking in the atmosphere and basically basking in books. The German publishing halls in particular were fantastic – most publishers offering first-chapter giveaways and sample stories – and the buzz was incredible. These little sample stories are such a neat idea and I don’t see it that much in bookshops in England. Over in Germany bookshops have many little sample giveaways, and these work fantastically as a selling tool – people do buy the full price book if they like the sample – so I think it should be more wide-spread. But there were lots of little interesting differences like that. Book covers were another thing – it’s interesting to see how covers change according to country. Such as the one below – I’d buy the German cover in a heartbeat. The other cover? Wouldn’t even get my fingers twitching, sad to say. It just shows how subjective the industry is, and how it is easy to unfortunately judge a book by its cover. There should be a Tinder app for books – how to do you rate this cover, swipe left for dislike, swipe right for a match!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dear cover on the right, you're gorgeous!</td></tr>
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<br />Moving from covers to illustration – I was so impressed with France. Nearly every picture book and graphic novel ticked my box for otherworldly, strange, beautiful illustrations – and the books stood out in a sea of primary colour.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ceux-ci sont belles</td></tr>
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Sunday was a bit of an eye-opener. This is the day when the general public can buy, so as you can imagine it was heaving. The German and most international halls were doing a roaring trade, and I was excited to visit the UK / USA hall to buy a few books to take home with me, but what a surprise! Most stands had ‘Books not for sale’ signs, and several publishers had packed up already, leaving behind forlorn empty stands. Presumably there is a good reason behind it, but when people are desperate to buy, and mostly everyone in Germany speaks English, with children learning English in kindergarten, it seems odd not to stay to sell the books. However, there were some who were selling so I did buy a couple to take back with me, mostly non-fiction books about London. Ah, you can take the girl out of London for a while but never London out of the girl.<br />
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I really loved my time in Frankfurt. It was totally heartening and inspiring to see how many people love words and pictures, and how every country pulls together to celebrate their authors and artists. At the end of Saturday, giddy-excited about all we had seen, we retired to the Finnish hall balcony to toast the fair with a glass of wine and watch the sun set over the square. It was our Frankfurt moment!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_TkEJnRtsyEi6mP7_i1hFSFb6shbaS30VlN9qnj-0pjcnMuGKeHNpOQEyja4FcGsGS_lkepwMpNZppfWL-KntO4A9K0V3TgO8jV1c7qFkIp_eZz7OUAU75DmMremTpi6Ih4ak_gc3U5g/s1600/me-anika.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_TkEJnRtsyEi6mP7_i1hFSFb6shbaS30VlN9qnj-0pjcnMuGKeHNpOQEyja4FcGsGS_lkepwMpNZppfWL-KntO4A9K0V3TgO8jV1c7qFkIp_eZz7OUAU75DmMremTpi6Ih4ak_gc3U5g/s1600/me-anika.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Anika</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLA6139WpdvsxDQHYbmt-Ybue9YrODqSnQGs_G09rmhuHhgD6Pus7IKko7-8xbgjmOQpA0OMywiIICsFAwgqhud2ZQMWpKuxuloZrQQvCriHEXSa_ZBeA29D9jtm2GsCPrMxL4lTIRvDM/s1600/cheers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLA6139WpdvsxDQHYbmt-Ybue9YrODqSnQGs_G09rmhuHhgD6Pus7IKko7-8xbgjmOQpA0OMywiIICsFAwgqhud2ZQMWpKuxuloZrQQvCriHEXSa_ZBeA29D9jtm2GsCPrMxL4lTIRvDM/s1600/cheers.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The best way to end the fair - cheers!</td></tr>
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Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-20044406158917722842013-12-04T11:27:00.000+00:002013-12-04T11:27:29.814+00:00Author interview: Janet O’Kane<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-eTKsZP1sASEYDxRWSlV9dGQPpW8YexZm0JjX8mawrXzxof1-XQbUu0cyq5m55eazeZGaDZkmsVESj9texXlq-J0gzdLE-IH4aQeI9s5TTNLrmIsLB49oHHkUhdsyGT37M1-lEGVCRUI/s1600/Janet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-eTKsZP1sASEYDxRWSlV9dGQPpW8YexZm0JjX8mawrXzxof1-XQbUu0cyq5m55eazeZGaDZkmsVESj9texXlq-J0gzdLE-IH4aQeI9s5TTNLrmIsLB49oHHkUhdsyGT37M1-lEGVCRUI/s200/Janet.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
I’m delighted to welcome author Janet O’Kane to my blog. I first ‘met’ Janet via blog comments, and was delighted to meet her in person earlier this year and to realise she is just as lovely off-screen as on. It’s been fab watching Janet’s journey towards publication with her debut novel, No Stranger to Death. Let’s find out more about it...<br />
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<b>1. What first drew you towards crime fiction?</b><br />
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Once upon a time there wasn’t such a thing as YA fiction. You were expected to progress from Enid Blyton and other children’s writers to whatever you found on the school reading list and at home. I must have been a disappointment to Dad: not only did I not want to play football, he couldn’t interest me in his books about military history either. On the other hand, as soon as Mum judged me ready for Agatha Christie, I became immersed in crime fiction and haven’t looked back. At that time, the so-called Queens of Crime (Christie, Sayers, Marsh, Allingham) reigned supreme. The genre has become a lot broader since, but it still delivers what I look for in books: great stories. So when I decided to write a novel, what else would I write? <br />
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<b>2. Who are your favourite crime fiction authors and why do you like their stories?</b><br />
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Over the past couple of years I’ve noticed a shift in how I read crime fiction. Instead of avidly devouring every book by a small range of authors, I now read work by a wider spread of authors, especially debut novels. This probably started while I was trying to go down the traditional agent/publisher route and hoped to discover what, if anything, those novels had in common. The two established writers who appear most frequently on my bookshelves are Robert Goddard and Christopher Brookmyre. Goddard is a supreme storyteller, getting his main characters into fixes from which it seems impossible to escape, yet they do. I also enjoy the historical aspects of his novels. Brookmyre brilliantly combines crime with the blackest of humour, sending up everything from fake psychics to the Scottish Government.<br />
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<b>3. If you could meet a character from any crime fiction book, who would it be and why?</b><br />
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I still have a soft spot for Reginald Hill’s Andy Dalziel, who is far more uncouth in the novels than he is portrayed by Warren Clarke in the TV adaptation. But he makes me laugh as well as being far cleverer than people realise. <br />
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<b>4. No Stranger to Death is your first novel. What can readers expect?</b><br />
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As I discovered when the time came to upload it to Amazon, my novel doesn’t fit neatly into a category. Yes, it revolves around murder and other crimes, but although the police are involved, they play a minor part, and my main character is Zoe Moreland, a recently widowed GP. It’s set in the Scottish Borders, which is very rural, but while the goings-on Zoe gets caught up in are far from the ‘cosy’ world of Christie’s Miss Marple, they’re maybe not dark enough to qualify as ‘tartan noir’. So perhaps I’ve just invented a new crime sub-genre: tartan cosy! Suffice to say, I’ve written the sort of book I like to read, with a twisty-turny plot, lots of interesting characters, and several shocks at the end. <br />
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<b>5. Tell us more about your main character...</b><br />
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Doctor Zoe Moreland is a loner – although she would describe herself as independent – and her only companion is Mac, a crossbreed dog she unintentionally adopted. She has moved to the Borders to start a new life, not realising a village is the last place to go if you’re trying to keep a secret. I wanted to make her as unlike myself as possible, so although she’s emotionally reserved she is a sporty, physically adventurous type. She also has long, thick hair, which I’ve always wished for! By contrast, Zoe’s new friend Kate Mackenzie, a deaf genealogist who comes from a long line of Borders farmers, is an extrovert, forever trying to persuade Zoe to be more outgoing and trusting of people. It was fun writing about two such disparate characters and I like Kate so much that she gets her own plotline in Book 2.<br />
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<b>6. You live in the Scottish Borders. How much of an influence were your surroundings when writing No Stranger to Death?</b><br />
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After living up here for 21 years (I’m originally from Dorset) I can’t imagine being anywhere else, so maybe I took the easy way out by setting my book here too. However, No Stranger to Death would be a very different novel if Zoe had relocated anywhere else, as her new surroundings shape the events she gets caught up in. For example, walking her dog in a city may have exposed her to some types of crime but probably not finding a body in the remains of a Guy Fawkes bonfire. <br />
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While writing the book I discovered a strange thing: I had no shortage of plot ideas or characters, but I could not describe places and buildings without actually seeing them. Looking at photographs on the internet can be useful, but I got into the habit of visiting locations, which in turn provided yet more storylines. Going to Kelso to research Zoe’s visit to her favourite coffee shop (in real life it’s actually a tiny Boots) gave me the idea for a revelation on the very last page of the book, and a trip to a graveyard supplied the scene when her car goes out of control in the snow.<br />
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<b>7. I love researching oddities for my writing. What research did you do for your novel?</b><br />
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Again, much research can be done without leaving the comfort of one’s home thanks to the internet, but I don’t think you can beat talking to people to find out the really interesting stuff. I call this the ‘you don’t know what you don’t know’ principle. Speaking with someone to check a few facts can lead to them sharing things you hadn’t even asked about, small details which give your writing veracity. For example, because Kate Mackenzie is a genealogist, I met up with a real one in Berwick, and learnt that Kate would probably keep an acrylic magnifying dome on her desk, to help with reading copies of old documents. When we discussed the sort of people who ask her to draw up their family trees, she said many of her American clients are far keener for her to find them Scots ancestors than English ones. It would have taken an awful lot of googling to discover that!<br />
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<b>8. Can you describe your writing routine?</b><br />
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I’m lucky in that I no longer have to juggle writing with a job outside the home, but I do help my husband run his business, so I can’t ignore the phone if it rings because it could be a potential customer. And we don’t have children, although my day is organised around caring for our two dogs who wake me at 5am most mornings. I can’t possibly write that early, but it gives me time to read and plan my day, and catch up with Twitter and Facebook. I aim to be at my desk by 9am and write for two or three hours, morning and afternoon. When I’m writing something new I try not to keep going back and editing, but plough on and finish. I’m a reluctant pantser: I wish I could plot an entire book before sitting down and typing it, but I can’t. Instead, I plan a few chapters ahead, write them, then plan a bit more. <br />
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<b>9. What made you decide to self-publish No Stranger to Death?</b><br />
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Having seen two friends, Mel Sherratt and Peter Flannery, self-publish very successfully, I always had it at the back of my mind as an option. Weirdly enough, a rejection from an agent decided me. Not because she hated my novel but because she took the trouble to phone me to say she really liked it and but didn’t think she could sell it because it was too ‘mid-list’ for a publisher to take on in the current climate. That was the validation I needed, the reassurance that I had written, in her words, ‘a very good book’. <br />
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I have a marketing background, so that aspect of self-publishing didn’t overly worry me, but I knew I had to make my book as good as it could possibly be, for it to stand any chance of selling more than a handful of copies. That’s why I invested in a bespoke cover by a professional designer, Kim McGillivray, and also paid to have it edited by Caroline Smailes at BubbleCow. One of the best bits of advice I’ve had came from Peter Flannery, who said on the day I pressed the ‘Publish’ button: ‘Remember this is only the beginning of the process’. It’s still very early days, but I was delighted when No Stranger to Death reached the dizzy height of number 17 in Amazon’s Scottish Crime Fiction on Kindle a couple of days after its release. <br />
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<b>10. What advice would you give to other authors who are thinking of self-publishing?</b><br />
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I don’t think I’ve been at this long enough to say anything other than suggest they do their homework first. There’s lots of information available now, online and in print. And get to know others who’ve gone down that route, see how they approached it. But remember: There are no hard and fast rules in self-publishing, which makes it both scary and exciting!<br />
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<i>Thank you, Janet! </i><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/No-Stranger-Death-Westerlea-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B00GS1GF0E/ref=la_B00GS7FGEY_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1386155084&sr=1-1" target="_blank"><u><b>No Stranger to Death</b></u></a><br />
<b>Some secrets can be deadly . . .</b><br />
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The featureless corpse lay like a grotesque department-store mannequin, elbows and knees flexed, fists clenched. Wisps of smoke rose from its still-burning torso.<br />
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Recently-widowed GP Zoe Moreland really wishes she’d chosen another route to walk her dog on November 6th. Had they gone away from the village, Mac could not have led her to the body lying in the remains of a Guy Fawkes bonfire.<br />
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Zoe’s move from an English city to the Scottish Borders was meant to be a fresh start among strangers unaware of her past. Instead, she is thrust into the limelight by her grisly discovery and gets caught up in the resulting murder investigation. Then someone else dies unexpectedly and Zoe herself narrowly escapes death.<br />
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Determined not to become the killer’s next victim, she digs beneath the tranquil surface of the close knit community to find out who is committing these horrible acts. But uncovering other people’s secrets puts Zoe in even more danger . . .<br />
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<b><span style="color: #990000;">Buy the book:</span></b> <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/No-Stranger-Death-Westerlea-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B00GS1GF0E/" target="_blank">Amazon</a><br />
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Find the author on... <br />
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/JanetOkaneAuthor" target="_blank">Facebook</a><br />
<a href="https://twitter.com/JanetOkane" target="_blank">Twitter</a><br />
<a href="http://www.janetokane.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Blog</a><br />
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<i>I love the idea of 'tartan cosy', and the evocative cover art is so enticing. As for the blurb - what a great start to a novel! Am looking forward to finding out more.</i>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-25260477953671757682013-09-18T16:12:00.000+01:002013-09-20T13:30:23.184+01:00The Festival of Writing at York <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>#FoW13</b> - not a sound effect from a posh Batman and Robin fight scene (take 13), but the hashtag used on Twitter to group together tweets from an incredibly inspiring long weekend in York.<br />
<br />
I first saw a mention of the festival in a tweet. ‘Ang on, I thought (as even in thoughts I drop aitches), that sounds a bit sparkling. I then did some research and was swiftly dazzled by the amount of industry professionals signed up to hold one-to-one sessions or present panels and workshops. It was a weekend flooded with literary goodness. I ditched the plans for a holiday; decided last year’s winter wardrobe was perfectly adequate as long as no one inspects hems (and how many hem-fetish weirdoes do we really meet on a day-to-day basis?), and promptly booked.<br />
<br />
Friday 13th dawned (thankfully not at Camp Crystal Lake). I’d been awake since 6am alternatively coaxing and threatening my printer to do its job (trust my luck to have a printer with existential issues) and, along with nerves, took with me to the festival my first few chapters, a synopsis, and my pitch.<br />
<br />
We shall draw the thin Veil of Calm over what happened at Kings Cross station when I saw most trains were delayed or cancelled, and instead board the train. I don’t think there was a lessoning of the stomach muscles until I got to York. But arrive I did, and felt very brave asking a taxi queue of strangers if anyone else was also travelling to the festival. One girl stepped forward so we shared the cab fare and chatted on the way. I never actually saw her again – the festival is big! – but it was really nice to walk in with someone else.<br />
<br />
I had cunningly timed my arrival to <strike>be the cheapest train from London</strike> coincide with the start of a mini-course, but there was time to say a quick hello to the lovely <a href="http://www.nicolamorgan.com/" target="_blank">Nicola Morgan</a> – who looks more glamorous each time I meet her – and for her to introduce me to <a href="http://www.debialper.co.uk/" target="_blank">Debi Alper</a>, who was running the course ‘Self-editing your Novel’.<br />
<br />
Debi is so lovely. (You will spot a theme here.) She instantly made me feel welcome and, as I entered the lecture hall, I felt completely at home.<br />
<br />
Tea and coffee breaks are a great way to start chatting to people. I introduced myself to someone I’d seen in Debi’s course, and knew pretty much straight away that I had found a good buddy. We realised we had our first one-to-one sessions at the same time, so when the course resumed we made a plan to discreetly slope out together and towards the one-to-one building.<br />
<br />
The one-to-ones were ten minutes in front of your chosen industry professional – whether literary agent, book doctor, or publisher. (I love the wording ‘book doctor’.) I chose to speak to literary agents. The feedback was insightful, positive, reaffirming, considered, and pretty damn lovely. They liked my book idea and my writing. Whoop! I think I babbled a bit – and handed one agent a business card with a pic that unfortunately makes me look like I write vampire porn - but apart from that they said they'd be interested in a submission. So this makes me think of two things.<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>You really need to find an agent who connects with your novel. They need to love it/believe in it in order to sell it. </li>
<li>It is really obvious when you find someone like that as the questions they ask will reflect their interest. </li>
</ol>
<div>
Of course, we all send submissions to the Great Slush Pile; it's rare to meet an agent first. But ways this can be translated is by researching that your chosen agent represents your genre, and get your manuscript as polished as it can possibly be before submitting.</div>
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Saturday dawned with a spill of sun soaking through clouds still damp from the laundry. I swung off to breakfast with my notebook, determined to make the most of the day. And what a day! It started with a keynote address from the author <a href="http://www.adeleparks.com/" target="_blank">Adele Parks</a>, a lady who is simply brilliant at public speaking. She was warm, confident, funny, succinct – and didn't shy from talking about painful things like family bereavement, which prompted her to start making her author dreams come true.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was next in literary agent Juliet Pickering’s workshop ‘Honing a one-minute, two-line pitch’, and we did practical exercises as well as trying out how our pitches sounded to a roomful of people. Afterwards someone came up to me to say they thought my idea sounded intriguing, which was lovely to hear.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
And this leads me nicely on to the friendliness of the festival. The effect was such that I've found myself smiling at strangers ever since (very odd behaviour for a Londoner). Everyone is willing to chat, every conversation is about writing. I attended a sci-fi / fantasy panel and absolutely loved that one part of it was spent seriously discussing possible outcomes of the next ice-age. The ‘next’, mind you. It was brilliant.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The afternoon was spent in author <a href="http://www.julie-cohen.com/" target="_blank">Julie Cohen</a>’s workshop about characterization (spelling in honour of her nationality). She is a fantastic teacher full of enthusiasm and energy for her subject. We were handed random letters and created a character from them – mine was fifty-year old Unwin Walters, a hit man out to murder his employers (‘Unwin’ means ‘enemy’). I might revisit ol’ Unwin at a later date…</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sunday’s workshops started with a talk about digital story-telling. Speakers <a href="http://bonfiredog.co.uk/" target="_blank">Rob Sherman</a>, <a href="http://www.lisagee.net/" target="_blank">Lisa Gee</a>, and <a href="http://tomabba.com/" target="_blank">Tom Abba</a> introduced us to different ways of telling stories, and it was eye-opening, revolutionary, fascinating, and mind-blowing. The workshop was extended for those of us who were practically on the edge of our seat – we were like a little church of true believers, buzzing around the speakers at the end of the talk, fully engaged with ideas.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I then decided to attend another of Julie Cohen’s classes, as she was so brilliant the day before, and was in a packed workshop called ‘Learning story structure from Pixar films’. Again, she was really lovely (that theme again!) and the class was brilliant. I've now ordered some Pixar films… research, I tell you.</div>
<br />
<br />
This leads me onto the other thing I got from this festival: book and film recommendations based on my writing, my idea, and my genre. This is so fantastic – I'm on a literary journey, and can’t wait to bolster my education, so to speak, with authors such as Jonathan L Howard, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Mark Z. Danielewski, and films such as Hugo, and A Matter of Life and Death.<br />
<br />
The final keynote speech was from author <a href="http://www.sjbolton.com/" target="_blank">Sharon Bolton</a> (SJ Bolton) who, despite a tricky time-slot, shone from the stage with an inspiring, rallying speech full of dry wit and advice for aspiring authors, namely:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Be talented, hard-working and professional</li>
<li>Be nice</li>
<li>Don’t be a twat</li>
</ol>
<br />
And then there was only time for goodbyes and the wet taxi scrum dash to the train station.<br />
<br />
Oh, Festival of Writing. How truly lovely you were, exceeding all my expectations. I met some amazing people, who I’ll hopefully stay in touch with (and can’t wait for them to be published so I can read their books), got some fantastic feedback and advice, attended some brilliant workshops, and, perhaps most importantly of all, feel a real confidence in my writing.<br />
<br />
Onwards and upwards, my friends.<br />
<br />
=-=-=<br />
<br />
The Festival of Writing is run by <a href="http://www.writersworkshop.co.uk/literary-agents.html" target="_blank">The Writer's Workshop</a>.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-45812817730289126042013-09-07T18:47:00.000+01:002013-09-08T09:12:54.877+01:00A mini-update<br />
I'm not quite back yet, but, in the manner of opening the windows in a guest room before Great Aunt Doris’ imminent arrival; I've given the blog a bit of an airing.<br />
<br />
There have been a few changes.<br />
<br />
I've decided it’s time to say goodbye to my Novice Novelist title. I love the playful alliteration, but have also been thinking about the message I'm sending into the universe with that title, and the message I'm sending to myself. I know – a bit hippy-dippy – but I believe the tags we give to ourselves are important, and it’s important to listen to what we are truly saying. It’s so easy to be subconsciously negative, and this creates barriers to our heart’s desire without us even realising. I don’t want to be a <i>novice </i>novelist – I want to be a novelist. I’ll always continue to learn and grow, as that’s what humans do, but it’s time for a bit of positive energy.<br />
<br />
I've also added an <a href="http://jayneferst.blogspot.co.uk/p/about.html" target="_blank">About </a>section with a list of published work to date, amongst some other bits. Once my scanner stops doing its best impression of a breeze block with buttons, and starts remembering its mission in life, then I’ll upload the articles; it’ll be nice to have them all in the one spot. I’ll also add some details of my illustration adventures. The Grand Plan for 2014 definitely involves getting some art back in my life again.<br />
<br />
My 9-5 work is still very busy, and I'm still searching for that elusive work / life balance, as ever. As for the novel – the rewrite / editing continues – mostly I'm really happy with how it’s progressing; sometimes I want to throw the keyboard out of the window and jump up and down on its cruel blank innards…and then make a necklace out of them – that will teach you, keyboard! Don’t mess with a writer who is also into steam-punk jewellery.<br />
<br />
Well, I think that’s it for now. Great Aunt Doris should be very comfortable here in the interim. She is very fond of Steely Grey colour schemes and is partial to Courier font (and a courier or two, so I've heard, in the Tales of her Exciting Youth Vol One).<br />
<br />
I hope your writing, or art, is going really well, and look forward to catching up with you all soon.<br />
<br />
J x<br />
<br />Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-57806768330889646532013-07-22T17:44:00.000+01:002013-07-22T17:44:10.911+01:00A bookmark<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<![endif]--><br />I feel silenced every time I think of this blog. There are so many things I want to say that my fingers get stuck with the enormity of it all and I can’t form the words. I don’t feel very witty anymore; I worry that the folk who came here to be entertained may yawn instead and this time there's no rabbit waiting in the hat to pull out as a surprise. <br />
<br />
I need to make some changes with my life and as of yet can’t find the gumption to do it. (Who stocks gumption? I need to order some pronto.) I have to take control of the wheel, but instead I laze backwards and let the ship steer where it may, into that choppy sea, onto those rocks, adrift under the sun. I’m still chipping away at my story, still excited by what I’m writing, but I feel a constant underlying weariness to my days, which is probably to do with lack of decision-making. And yet there are so many things I am plotting behind the scenes – create a website, do this, sell that, make this, write that – maybe thinking of these things at once has caused me to press all the keys on a mental typewriter and create a jam.<br />
<br />
The other stumbling block is the rise of Hugely Busy with the 9-5 job and the enormous length of time I spend squashed into random smelly armpits while commuting on the tube. I’ve had my job for four years now and completely notice the difference in outside work creativity – when I started I had a lot more evening energy to write, draw, and blog. Now my best writing time is always at the weekend, and the longer I spend there, finding those words, the less I can devote to words here. I tweet as that’s easy, but blogging is more of a commitment, for me, anyway. <br />
<br />
So think of this blog as my online bookmark. It's closed for now but will open again one day soon, and I’ll find my place again.<br />
J x <br />
<br />
<br />Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-87941686578238644852013-03-24T17:30:00.000+00:002013-03-24T17:36:38.905+00:00Winners<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Start the triumphant fanfare! I have finally picked the five winners from <a href="http://jayneferst.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/author-interview-wendy-wallace.html" target="_blank">my give away</a> of Wendy Wallace’s debut novel, The Painted Bridge. Thank you to all who entered, as well as thanks to those who also tweeted about the giveaway and so gained two entries in the magic handbag. Since I am a little overdue with the announcement (hangs head in all-kinds of bloggy shame), let’s do something a little special for the reveal…</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>A movie!</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/21tXcPbNRy8" width="560"></iframe>
</div>
<br />
...<br />
...<br />
...<br />
...<br />
...<br />
... <br />
<br />
Big congratulations to those who won – <a href="http://granniemay.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Maggie May</a>, <a href="http://cassus-vas.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Snafu</a>, <a href="http://elizabethvaradansfourthwish.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Elizabeth Varadan</a>, <a href="http://ten-lives-second-chances.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Old Kitty</a>, <a href="https://plus.google.com/105937575233806893552/posts" target="_blank">Johanna Garth</a>. Please email me – jayneferstATyahoo.com (replace the AT with @) – and send me your address so the book can be mailed out to you. I’ve also popped over to your blogs to let you know, so hopefully I’ll be hearing from you soon.<br />
<br />
If you didn’t win then <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Painted-Bridge-Wendy-Wallace/dp/0857209272" target="_blank">here’s the Amazon link for The Painted Bridge.</a><br />
<br />
Moving onto Other News, I’ve been tagged by both <a href="http://caroleannecarr.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/the-next-best-thing-hop-3.html" target="_blank">Carole Anne Carr </a>and <a href="http://jbchicoineliteraryworkinprogress.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/playing-along-nicely.html" target="_blank">J.B. Chicoine</a> to take part in the blog meme ‘the Next Big Thing’. Thank you, ladies – it’s lovely to be tagged and I’m delighted that you want to know more about my novel-in<i>-almost-finished-</i>progress. So this will be the next blog post coming up – hopefully this week.<br />
<br />
Until then... Happy writing all!<br />
<br />
Jx<br />
<br />
<i>*sails off humming Aida*</i>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-37652311181677610152013-02-25T17:04:00.001+00:002013-02-25T17:07:20.792+00:00It’s never The End onlineWhen you finish a good book, do you rush to the Internet to find out more?<br />
<br />
I always do. It’s an extra delicacy that’s impossible to resist. As soon as I close the book, or release the kindle to its stand-by picture of crudely rendered pencils, I’m at the computer, googling. (Not goggling, Victorian time-travellers, although I do a fair amount of that online as well – usually in bafflement at obscure websites on subjects such as milk-bottle collecting).<br />
<br />
Why am I googling? What do I want to know at this stage? Just... more, if possible – more about the story, about the characters, about the author. I like to read other people’s riffs on ideas or themes, and I like to read interviews with the author to find out what inspired them to write that particular story.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNRPyZpJIk54t5R70SbXWqDQZOgXoWo1BouOHg9pKXzY-f44iaL-5hATNGrfz0yWq7h2OeMUl1Vum8ir1YjXZDOSu6Eio48WU13gHri66LVhma3RsRPiM1VaK49noG0kGy430qknFuXL8/s1600/Crime-Fic_Writer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNRPyZpJIk54t5R70SbXWqDQZOgXoWo1BouOHg9pKXzY-f44iaL-5hATNGrfz0yWq7h2OeMUl1Vum8ir1YjXZDOSu6Eio48WU13gHri66LVhma3RsRPiM1VaK49noG0kGy430qknFuXL8/s200/Crime-Fic_Writer.jpg" width="200" /></a>Sometimes I’m curious about what the authors look like.<br />
<br />
You know how dogs sometimes resemble their owners? I want to see if the author looks like their genre – e.g. whether they are suitably detective-like for crime fiction.<br />
<br />
(I’m thinking a no-nonsense hairstyle, some sort of beige raincoat, a look of noir in their eyes.)<br />
<br />
Actually, let’s follow that cliché tangent...<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><b>Historical:</b> A vague impression of dust, free-range hair, a monocle, a defiant cardigan</li>
<li><b>Romance:</b> A Very Interesting necklace (if a lady), a Very Interesting cravat (if a man), a secret yearning to walk by a stream in a meadow (both)</li>
<li><b>Horror:</b> A quiet unassuming air, with quiet unassuming hair. If they are distracted in conversation assume they are thinking of ways to horribly kill and maim. </li>
<li><b>Comedy</b>: Hair that can comfortably host its own stand-up show, a jaunty outfit, oversized accessories</li>
<li><b>Sci-fi:</b> Like a blinky-eyed mole, recently emerged from its secret Mole Lair</li>
<li><b>Supernatural:</b> Black clothes, cross or skull silver jewellery, tattoo of name in Wingdings font* on arm</li>
<li><b>Thriller:</b> Super-fit, hair swept back as if just stepped off speed-boat, aviator sunglasses, loves Bond.</li>
</ul>
<br />
This is probably why my novel makes slow progress. You’ve got to love a tangent or two (sung to the tune of ‘You’ve got to pick a pocket or two’ from Oliver!)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>In this novel, one thing counts</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>On the page, ideas must mount</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I’m afraid these don’t grow on trees</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>You’ve got to love a tangent or two</i></div>
<br />
What else am I googling? (Besides lyrics to parody.) After I finish a book, I like to read reviews to see what everyone else thinks – and, to all authors who worry about reviews – this is the only time I read them, after I’ve finished the book. A bad review on Amazon would never put me off your book as I’d never see it first. I can understand why authors worry, after all, I’d be gutted to see a miserable review of my own book, but from a reader’s point of view, it wouldn’t inform my choice at all. Does anyone actually go to Amazon to browse reviews to decide what to read? (There’s a lot of 'to’s' in that there sentence.)<br />
<br />
I find this sort of googling adds another layer to the story. It’s like wringing as much pleasure as possible out of a sponge.** <br />
<br />
I once wrote about a character that couldn’t bear to watch films as she didn’t like to think there was an ending. The character was an over-wrought imaginative teenager, and it was surely only a coincidence that at the time I was also an over-wrought imaginative teenager. Sometimes I feel like that about good stories. They fill my mind so much that I need to google every last drop out of them and only then can I let them rest in peace. Before the Internet I’m not quite sure what I did. Quite possibly I never actually paused between books but hastily picked up the next to consume, and so stayed continually giddy drunk on stories, rather than go through the hang over feel of an ending. Now I like to pause and reflect a little. And, of course, google the hell out of it.<br />
<br />
<b>What about you?</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Is there an actual point to Wingdings? There are three versions on my copy of Word (and a bastard child – webdings) so someone out there must know. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">**I’ve never passed by a sponge and thought let’s wring it for a bit of a giggle. I’ve never even looked at a sponge and thought of it as an entertainment source, to be honest.</span>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-50869528246587544792013-02-04T17:02:00.001+00:002013-02-04T20:53:16.566+00:00Author interview: Wendy Wallace<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbwTJDpWanUyppEjJVqvG9XBdFTvrLoFmES5QsF-5Ua6srTgJhWV_n_di69HeCa2i3ay30PW5oDODgYHltCHGV0VVoD_7WkL69yd3GFP3JYhBwQZ4RR4POCRRVubnG7kjarjl5QbySWQQ/s1600/The_Painted_Bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbwTJDpWanUyppEjJVqvG9XBdFTvrLoFmES5QsF-5Ua6srTgJhWV_n_di69HeCa2i3ay30PW5oDODgYHltCHGV0VVoD_7WkL69yd3GFP3JYhBwQZ4RR4POCRRVubnG7kjarjl5QbySWQQ/s200/The_Painted_Bridge.jpg" width="130" /></a></div>
Wendy Wallace is the author of The Painted Bridge – a haunting novel set in the 19th century, where nothing is as it seems. The symbolic cover art intrigued me at once, and the book is an enchanting and satisfying read, one that deeply absorbs the reader into the Victorian world within the pages.<br />
<br />
I’m delighted to welcome Wendy to my blog for an interview, and have teamed up with her UK publisher, Simon & Schuster, to offer a copy of her book to five lucky folk – find out how to enter at the end of this blog post. <br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;">On to the interview!</span><br />
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<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj93EFUei3ubGzqWRjaPfXU0xCDjjnB9ZLwzGfN-wWBnS4WL7RaHe2kPTF2NWRzI0R4uoIL9HjY4DwCPI4jTz_9Y-Sib_ilw793QRQ-J521vgNICqb87e9hWnR29xdNQJ45xLYAxlI1_k/s1600/Wendy_Wallace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj93EFUei3ubGzqWRjaPfXU0xCDjjnB9ZLwzGfN-wWBnS4WL7RaHe2kPTF2NWRzI0R4uoIL9HjY4DwCPI4jTz_9Y-Sib_ilw793QRQ-J521vgNICqb87e9hWnR29xdNQJ45xLYAxlI1_k/s200/Wendy_Wallace.jpg" width="132" /></a><b>How would you describe your debut novel, The Painted Bridge?</b><br />
<br />
My shorthand description of The Painted Bridge is that it’s about photography, madness and the sea. A longer version might be: The Painted Bridge is set in London, in 1859, in a private asylum for women. It’s the story of Anna Palmer, a woman who has made a mistake in her life and who has reached a point where she is forced to learn to see things for what they are.”<br />
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<b>Where did you get your inspiration for the story?</b><br />
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I took inspiration for The Painted Bridge from a range of sources. I’d spent a Christmas in Caernarvon on the north Wales coast and had read about shipwrecks on the treacherous rocks there, and had walked on the wintry beaches. At about the same time, I came across the work of Dr Hugh Diamond, a Victorian psychiatrist who believed that the then-new science of photography could be used to read mental illness from the features of the face. Underlying these things, I had a persistent idea in my mind - about a woman who saw visions. These elements were the foundations of what became Anna’s story.<br />
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<b>Why did you choose ‘The Painted Bridge’ as the title? </b><br />
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The eponymous bridge is inspired by a real one, in the grounds of Kenwood House in north London, where I walk regularly. It is a bridge that is not what it seems! I don’t want to give too much away but, trapped in Lake House asylum, Anna Palmer must find a way out of her situation. What at first appear to be ways of escape – appeals to doctors, the bridge itself – are illusory. And yet ultimately the bridge is made to serve. The metaphor of ‘finding a way across’ underlies the whole novel.<br />
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<b>Photography plays a big part in the novel. To what extent did you research the techniques involved?</b><br />
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I totally enjoyed researching the photography aspects. I’ve been fascinated by photography for many years and have always taken photographs. It was a very powerful experience to visit the archive at Bethlem Royal Hospital and there to see and hold 19th century photographs of women patients. <br />
<br />
I was lucky enough to be able to attend a wet collodion workshop, held at the London studio of artist Minnie Weisz, and run by two New Yorkers who are fine practitioners of the art of wet collodion. From that, I learned about the smell of the chemicals, the feeling of the glass plate in your hands and also formed the idea for the opening and closing images of the novel – in which the world is seen through a lens, upside down.<br />
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<b>Tell us about your main character, Anna Palmer. </b><br />
<br />
Anna is a solitary character from a precarious family, trying to make a life for herself in the ways that were open to Victorian women. She has married a scoundrel but can’t allow herself to realize it. She grew up by the sea and the sea seems to wash through her being, in her memories and the way she sees life, and in her passionate commitment to aid for seafarers. The experience of incarceration at Lake House could make or break her and it is up to the reader to decide whether or not she is ‘mad’, as charged by her husband.<br />
<br />
<b>Along with Anna, every character within the novel has their own personal journey. Was each character’s emotional arc planned from the beginning?</b><br />
<br />
The emotional arcs were planned in embryo from the beginning but each of the minor characters grew in substance during the writing. Lizzie Button and Talitha Batt are incarcerated alongside Anna, and at first she can see neither for who they are. Emmeline Abse, wife of the proprietor Querios Abse, finds her own form of freedom through the events of the winter of 1859. Even Querios Abse will ultimately escape from Lake House. The book appeared to me during the writing of it as a mosaic, in which each tiny piece by the end found its place in the pattern. <br />
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<b>If you wrote a sequel to The Painted Bridge, which characters would you like to follow and why?</b><br />
<br />
I have written a sequel to The Painted Bridge! Although I think of it not as a sequel exactly but as a ‘linked’ novel. The Sacred River, which will be published in July 2013, is the story of Anna Palmer’s older sister Louisa Heron, and Louisa’s daughter Harriet. Harriet appears only as a baby in The Painted Bridge, but is a young woman of 23 by the time Magic begins, in the winter of 1882.<br />
<br />
I wanted to explore the character of Louisa further. I knew all about her background, growing up like Anna in a flint-knapped house on a clifftop near the port of Dover in Kent, in an unconventional family. Louisa is a more complex character than Anna Palmer, and for reasons of her own, doesn’t always do the right thing. By 1882, she is forced by Harriet’s illness to leave a fogbound London for the light and warmth of Egypt - with consequences for each of the three main characters that could not have been foreseen. Yael Heron, the third member of the party that sets out for Alexandria, never comes on stage in The Painted Bridge although Louisa mentions her.<br />
<br />
<b>If you could go back in time to the year the novel is set, 1859, for one day only, where would you go and why?</b><br />
<br />
Shortly before publication, we made a short film trailer for The Painted Bridge, in which actress Sarine Sofair was in costume as Anna Palmer. We filmed at Brockwell House in Lambeth and the film shows Anna beating on the door of her room, looking out of the window of ‘Lake House’, dancing (her great love) alone in the grounds. During the filming, I felt as if I had gone back in time, as if I walked with Anna Palmer in the walled garden, felt her fear and frustration as she paced the day room. It was an uncanny experience.<br />
<br />
Apart from that – I’d love to go back on any very ordinary day and just walk amongst the people of London, listening to their conversations, smelling the roasting chestnuts and the bunches of violets (and the sewage, probably). I’d have a gin in a public house, hold a baby, maybe try on a pair of laced boots or wield a quill pen! Take a ride on an omnibus. Very ordinary things interest and move me.<br />
<br />
<b>How do you organise your time when writing?</b><br />
<br />
I don’t have a cast iron routine but just work consistently, day after day, often in the evenings and at weekends as well. The Painted Bridge took me two years to write. I like writing while sitting on a couch, with my feet up. It gives me the feeling that I’m not really working, just amusing myself and I think that’s not a bad feeling to have in writing fiction.<br />
<br />
<b>By my computer I currently have a pen, my mobile, and an origami fortune teller. What’s on your desk?</b><br />
<br />
I like the sound of your fortune teller. Often on my desk there are heaps of postcards, print-outs from archive.org of old texts or reports, copies of photographs, reference books – and always my trusty Dictionary of Etymology (to prevent modern words creeping in to the mouths of 19th century characters.) Other times, I’ll have a big clear out and get out a can of furniture polish and my desk will be completely empty, which helps give clarity. My talisman throughout the writing of The Painted Bridge was the card of my agent, Ivan Mulcahy. I had it on a shelf in front of me and his belief in me helped me find more in myself. On my noticeboard, I have a quote from the wise and wonderful Hilary Mantel: <i>“Imagination only comes when you privilege the subconscious.”</i><br />
<br />
<b>Can you share some information about your next writing project?</b><br />
<br />
The Sacred River is now in production and will appear in hardback in July this year. I’m gestating a new novel but it’s too early to say anything about it yet. I see writing as a path, and it’s my hope that I can stay on that path.<br />
<br />
<b>What advice would you give to aspiring authors?</b><br />
<br />
Three pieces of advice have helped me very much. <br />
<br />
One is not to judge your first draft too soon; just let it come out, you can improve it later.<br />
<br />
The next thing is to give yourself time. It takes time to write a novel, thousands and thousands of hours. Progress is not even; you can be stuck for ages then have a series of major breakthroughs in understanding the characters, the story.<br />
<br />
Finally – in the later stages - read the work aloud, again and again. Let your ear tell you what should stay and what must go or be rewritten.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #20124d;">=-=-=-=-<span style="color: #741b47;">=</span></span><span style="color: #741b47;">-=-=-=</span>-<span style="color: #351c75;">=-=-=-=-=
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<br />
Thank you, Wendy! It was fabulous to find out more about the background to the novel. And many thanks to Simon & Schuster for offering five of my blog readers the chance to receive their own copy of The Painted Bridge. <br />
<br />
<b>How to enter</b><br />
<br />
Leave a comment on this blog post = one entry in the hat <br />
Tweet about (and link to) this interview mentioning me @jayneferst (so I won't miss your tweet) = two entries in the hat <br />
Link to this interview on your blog (and let me know in a comment) = three entries in the hat <br />
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So your name could potentially go into the hat six times! The giveaway is open to all readers of my blog no matter where you are in the world, and is open throughout the month of February. The five winners will be chosen at random.<br />
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In the meantime, do visit the links below to find out more about Wendy and her writing.<br />
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Wendy's website (and book trailer mentioned in the interview): <a href="http://wendywallace.co.uk/">http://wendywallace.co.uk</a><br />
Wendy's Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/slangular">https://twitter.com/slangular</a><br />
The Painted Bridge: <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Painted-Bridge-Wendy-Wallace/dp/0857209272" target="_blank">Amazon</a><br />
<i>(The hardcover is out now, the paperback will be released on April 25, 2013)</i>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-40243153964760438252013-01-28T16:32:00.002+00:002013-01-28T16:32:44.591+00:00Fish-hooked Monday<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOpxXgr7t578aGLYz_1vTfPOtXvT_PRW2w9mpA-NtY0n7CUjtZdcRG5AETqXogV8bwx86HxPyJqDtQx5WV_1sqPijzoiRCfZvdBS82B7Ns4rGcRq0pQF7UUn3HGPhmU9zEMxY8J2gQRYI/s1600/mildred.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOpxXgr7t578aGLYz_1vTfPOtXvT_PRW2w9mpA-NtY0n7CUjtZdcRG5AETqXogV8bwx86HxPyJqDtQx5WV_1sqPijzoiRCfZvdBS82B7Ns4rGcRq0pQF7UUn3HGPhmU9zEMxY8J2gQRYI/s200/mildred.jpg" width="122" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mildred and her <br />best friend Maud</td></tr>
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Today I feel like I’ve been rudely jerked into Monday by a giant fish hook. There I was, all Sunday-ish and kind to small kittens, when all of a sudden – wham! Into Monday I go, without so much as a by-your-leave, or an excuse-me.<br />
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A fish-hooked look is one of startled scruffiness, I’ve decided. In fact, my inspiration today appears to have come from The Worst Witch’s Mildred Hubble. I am sporting a very similar plait, which is tied not only where you’d expect but also ‘in the middle’ with a ribbon snipped from a clothes item. Now, at 7am this seemed the height of sophisticated practicality. It was keeping unruly hair ruled and was the only thing to hand. But, in the harsh strip lighting of a corporate-ish office, why do I have a random piece of ribbon in my hair? I don’t know.<br />
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Another inspiring 7am idea was to pair suit trousers (a nod to respectability) with trainers that have a go-faster bright blue stripe. Fine, you may say, but I forgot I fretfully painted my fingernails varying shades of pink in a WHY-WON’T-MY-INTERNET-WORK! tedium crisis on Saturday. I’m also wearing a pink scarf. So, ignoring the plait thing, I look like I’ve almost thought about my look today – and then you glance down at my trainers and realise oh, actually, whatever stylistically matches is a pure lucky stumble.<br />
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This wasn’t going to be a blog post on being fish-hooked into Mondays. It was going to be a Very Intelligent article on Art, Science, and Deep Thoughts. So I’d like everyone to just imagine that for a minute instead.<br />
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...<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
... <br />
<br />
I thank you.<br />Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-89770942744568150152013-01-17T16:06:00.000+00:002013-01-17T16:06:36.078+00:00Britain’s changing high streetLulled into and lolled out of a dark Christmas, January slid into view behind the scenes, the skies giving no clue as to the new colour of the year. But now, mid-way, we are smacked out of our glittery jumpers by minus temperatures, crystal piercing skies, and the news of one high street behemoth after another lying down by the bleached bones of Woolworths, eyes rolling, one last snort of steam from its nostrils, killed like in a bad sci-fi movie from that unseen virus – online.<br /><br />Poor His Master’s Voice. For ninety-two years that little dog sat, ear cocked, listening intently to a gramophone. It never was upgraded to displaying a boom-box on its shoulder, never listened via gigantic headphones to walkmans, didn’t progress to being a digital projection of a cartoon dog street-dancing to an iPod. Like its logo, HMV also just sat, *squatted on every high street, usually on the dust-blown ashes of an independent record shop, belligerently happy with its position as ‘top dog’ for music, until it glanced around in shock and realised its customers were all shopping elsewhere. <br /><br />But HMV was handy, especially once you waded through the racks of over-priced band t-shirts. I liked seeing what box-sets were on offer. A voucher from HMV was the stock Christmas present staple for all the blokes in my family (thankfully not this year – that honour has now been awarded to Costa vouchers since we are all hopelessly addicted to caffeine.) But what did I actually buy from HMV stores? Earphones. The odd film for £3. And occasionally there would be something to buy that I’d have no idea about unless I wandered the shop – such as the London on Film DVDs. But in recent years wandering the shop was not exactly a pleasure. The aisles were cramped. The fixtures and fittings dark. The music too loud. DVDs stacked on the floor, bunched on tables. The store started to resemble a chain pub over-run by a bring and buy sale, haunted by the ghost of Dixons staring down from the flat-screen televisions.<br /><br />Blockbuster also gasped a final breath this week. Back in the day, we had a little local ‘Video City’. I used to don my rollerskates (quads), noisily whoosh down the pavement, and clunkily tip toe on the rubber stoppers all around the shop, trying to find something to watch that had actually been released in the last three years. Finding a new film was rarer than a Dodo feather. You had to put your name down on a list. Then along came Blockbuster. So bright! So much choice! Lots of sweets! My allegiance swiftly transferred, along with the rest of the community, and stayed throughout the transition from school to college to University. But then I found less time to watch films. Videos were cheap to buy. DVDs came down in price... especially if they were bought online.<br /><br />HMV and Blockbuster should have put their heads together. They should’ve gone for a walk around the neighbourhood, popped into the latest trendy club, taken a casual stroll around an Apple store, recognised which way the wind was blowing. Unfortunately the online world is fairly stealthy. The activity is not heard. Yet those virtual shopping baskets are still being filled, and the invisible cash register is silently adding up for somebody.<br /><br />It’s incredibly sad for the people who have lost their jobs. It always is. But perhaps this will be seen, one day, as a good thing for the high street. Maybe it will usher in an age of hand-made, of independents, of locally sourced, of craft. Maybe each high street will eventually become unique to its area again – a place people want to visit. The majority of people still like to go out and potter around. Shops should look at the demographic and footfall passing their door and think what can entice them in. The Internet will always be a factor, but online has different strengths to offline, and businesses that work that out will be onto a winner. <br />
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<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*I know this should say 'squatting'. But here, I rather like 'squatted'. Squatting sounds transient, like the store will straighten its knees at any moment and stride off. Squatted, on the other hand, sounds like it's bulkily blocked down on the street and put down concrete anchors.</span></i><br />Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-90764466438410104322013-01-07T14:20:00.000+00:002013-01-07T14:20:03.957+00:00ProgressionAnd so I start the first (official) working week of the year with shiny blow-dried hair, a new scarf, and firmer ideas about what I want to achieve. I don’t make resolutions in the time-honoured ‘I Shalt Not Ever Again Eat Gorgeous Biscuits!’ kind of way (as that would be sheer January madness), but I do like to plant little virtual signposts in the months ahead. Sort of like this:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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I’d like to be more creative this year. There’s a lot I’d like to make happen, if I can, and a good part of that will mean recognising new opportunities, speaking to new people, and learning to trust in my own abilities (and not disparage the poor things at every opportunity... including just then. Darn it!)<br />
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<b>Update on the novel rewrite</b><br />
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Slowly the evenings and weekends, the hours and minutes, the time squished out of the day to tap-tap-tap at the keyboard is repaying me with a stronger story. I downed tools on Sunday evening (far too late) and realised that there’s only 81 pages left to detangle / polish with Super Novel Shine (patented in 1872 by Mrs Paige Turner, no less.)<br />
<br />
Ahem.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This is SO exciting!</i></td></tr>
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I’ve booked two days off in January to give the writing a time-boost and my main mission for the next six weeks is to finish and submit. Whoop! Once the submission process has started on that novel then I need to start plotting out my next idea. There are several lined up but each needs to be explored to see which pulls me in most. During that time I’ll also be looking for a new place to live. (Another whoop!) I am hoping to be in a new place by the time I start exploring ideas, but am slowly discovering life is not linear. For so many years I had the mindset that until ‘A’ happens then ‘B’ can’t happen, and so on and so forth, but that’s not necessarily the best way to live. In fact, it’s time to take advice from Yoda...<br />
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<br />
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... and when he says it, you know it makes sense. Happy creative week all!<br />Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-91838637662242514802012-12-31T15:46:00.000+00:002012-12-31T23:14:47.873+00:00A summary<br />
Hello! While I’m bustling around the blog with a yellow duster, squinting and squirting each element with Super Shiny Element Polish, let’s chat 2012. How was it for you? Did you accomplish many things and move forward towards your dreams? Or did 2012 rugby-tackle you from behind, and sploosh you face-first into a pile of cold mud?<br />
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I feel muddy but undaunted, oh blogger buddies. The word that sums up my 2012 is ‘emotional’. Losing my vibrant aunt to cancer earlier in the year was massively hard, and continues – of course – to be a huge sadness. If you’re lucky, then parents, nans, granddads, aunts and uncles – these form a protective but invisible umbrella over your world – people who love you unconditionally, just because you are you. When they go there’s a gap where they once stood, and you can always feel the draught, no matter how many years go by.<br />
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So that was the sadness – and it did stop my blogging, as grief does rob people of easy words, and replaces them instead with tricky ones that are hard to spell – like despondency (which I spell ‘despondancey’ - imagine Gene Kelly doing a sad soft shoe shuffle), melancholy (which I spell ‘meloncholy’ – someone suffering with cholera, chomping on a melon), and disconsolateness (a Mexican salad).<br />
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It didn’t stop me entirely working on redrafting my novel, though. Writing fiction can be such a gift when you wish to escape reality. Stories always give the writer, and reader, a gently swinging rope ladder to climb up and into for a while. So there has been progress, and I feel it is a much stronger story, and hopefully it will be ready to submit to agents in January.<br />
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This year has also seen moments of pure sparkly happiness, too. I was the bridesmaid for one of my best friends, who here I call Good Friend R, and it was such a wonderful and special time. R is my vintage partner in crime, and a lindy hop / swing dancer extraordinaire, so it was great fun to plan a vintage hen party, and her wedding was a complete delight. Lots of love and happiness to R and A.<br />
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I also attended another gorgeous wedding – one that was in OK magazine, no less – and this was my friend Kerry-Lucy to Lee Latchford-Evans, who you may know from the band Steps. It’s been so much fun sharing their pre-wedding excitement, and the celebrations. Many sparkly congratulations to them. Kerry is also in a band – <a href="http://www.concreteroseofficial.com/" target="_blank">Concrete Rose</a> – 2013 is set to be their year.<br />
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Perhaps unsurprisingly, nostalgia has been higher than usual on my radar. I am prone to a nostalgic wander or two, sometimes even the sort of wallow that would make a hippo proud. This year not only did I see My First Boyband (which sounds like a Fisher Price toy) – New Kids On The Block – but I also went to the Hit Factory Live, which was a Stock Aitken and Waterman concert-fest of pure pop memories. Seeing NKOTB – well. For a heady teenage year they were plastered across my bedroom walls (along with Corey Haim, Christian Slater, and a random Home and Away actor. Even his poster looked bemused at the company he was keeping.) And then the world turned, and I left them behind... only for twenty-two years to pass, and here we are again. As for the Hit Factory – where to start?! I’ll start where I’ll end – with Kylie and Jason Donovan singing Especially For You. I tell you, Blogger friends, it was like Charlene and Scott had stayed together all those years, and the unseen episode of Neighbours – the one where Charlene cuts her hair and gets sexy with Michael Hutchence – never happened.<br />
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Another nostalgia trip this year was visiting The House at Green Knowe. Hand up who knows what I’m talking about – which of you is smiling right now and thinking of the books by Lucy Boston, or remembers the magical BBC adaptation in the 1980s? Well – I’ll let you into a secret. Green Knowe is real! It’s <a href="http://www.greenknowe.co.uk/" target="_blank">a real place</a> that anyone can visit – and Tolly’s room is completely as it is in the books and the show – and that wonderful air of magic and adventure from the stories is fully conjured by the house’s owner – the author’s daughter-in-law, Diana Boston. I went with another best friend, Good Friend A, and it has a special place in both our hearts.<br />
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A skip through my phone’s pictures and there are so many things I could tell you about but I can’t for fear of becoming that relative at parties who, after finishing the anecdote, goes on to repeat the same thing from a different angle unaware of the audience checking their watch and muttering ‘is that the time? I’m supposed to be calling into another blog’.<br />
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So all that it leaves me to do is raise a glass to you, dear reader, and wish you a very merry and productive New Year. May your 2013 sparkle bright.<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Jayne x</b></span></i></div>
Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-23734049345393778142012-11-30T17:37:00.000+00:002012-11-30T17:42:39.001+00:00Escaping on The Orient ExpressI always find that the closer it circles to midwinter, the more myself and friends meet up, perhaps to let the warmth of our friendship alleviate the chill air and darkness. We gather in bright circles, in houses with fireplaces, in pubs with flickering candles, in cosy tea shops with china cups, in plush department stores where artificial lights bounce from each polished surface. We all whoosh into each others’ life in a flurry of scarves and hats like we’ve used one of Harry Potter’s port-keys, filled with stories from Away. It doesn’t matter if Away has been for a year or a week; each conversation will pick up from the last and expand to cover all corners. Every familiar voice is a boon and a blessing, the light of companionship a talisman to ward off the night.<br />
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And yet, perversely, the call of hibernation is loud. The gloomy days make me want to tuck inside and draw the curtains, turn on the lamps. I want to escape into books and time-travel to see Victorians in London, to follow action heroes tackling twisty crime thrillers in Miami, to listen to sharp-talking mods in Brighton, to dream about lazy days in Georgia, to wonder what life would be like on a boat with a tiger. I want to look at art, to lose myself in the contours of oil paint, the flat expanses of acrylic. I want to trace the outlines of faces in photographs, to memory-gather, to rejoice in all I love. I want to reflect upon the year and plot for spring. I find myself making lists (and checking them twice), and squirreling away buttons and fabric, ribbons and sequins. I flick the pages of recipe books and contemplate cakes, delicate iced flowers, spun-sugar butterflies. And in-between it all, back and forth I go to work, a piece of shiny glass being endlessly washed upon a shore, corners rubbed away by commuter-tough elbows and shoulders, until I am smooth, quiet, and uniform.<br />
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Unless I rebel, of course, a secret thought that often springs to mind when squished into an armpit on the Victoria line. One-day I shall trudge past St Pancras train station in my conformist clothes, and then I’ll fling off the dull overcoat, revealing a purple tutu and a red mohair jumper. Then, waving my passport, I’ll run away on the Eurostar to Paris. Paris! The idea also morphs into Venice! (said with exactly the same breathy exclamation-mark passion), and, also, sometimes, most-daringly, into The Orient Express! (Said with even more breathy passion, if at all possible, without degenerating into an all-out saucy pant.) Oh, how I’d adore to travel on the Orient Express. Let’s see, what would I need to take with me...<br />
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<b>Clothes</b><br />
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If I’m on this luxury train then I’m assuming that I have a wardrobe budget to match. I’ll drip in art deco. I’ll shimmer in sequins. I’ll Charleston it up from sunrise to sundown. I’ll not step foot out of my cabin without an ostrich feather fascinator, and two small *chihuahuas named Fifi La Chew and Philippe La Mew.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.harveynichols.com/womens/categories-1/designer-dresses/evening/s425700-embroidered-tulle-dress.html?colour=BLACK" target="_blank">Prabal Gurung at Harvey Nichols</a><br /><a href="http://www.selfridges.com/en/Womenswear/Categories/Shop-Clothing/Dresses/Silk-chiffon-gown_161-2000084-305734QX934/?previewAttribute=Black" target="_blank">Alexander McQueen at Selfridges</a><br /><a href="http://www.orient-express.com/" target="_blank">The Orient Express</a></span><br />
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<b>Reading material</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGq9A-OOVpLMnGh1U4u4VAkImCbXMAy15XMsVEXFLSji7pr6yZGzfyp-Pp1-fxBwkz_T3n2hGOOy5tOxT-SAXWd7Xzpw0xanim4bLknRt6z_3DM_uWgiJvxC6cOVKB25QibXwojpEpcg/s1600/agatha_orient.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGq9A-OOVpLMnGh1U4u4VAkImCbXMAy15XMsVEXFLSji7pr6yZGzfyp-Pp1-fxBwkz_T3n2hGOOy5tOxT-SAXWd7Xzpw0xanim4bLknRt6z_3DM_uWgiJvxC6cOVKB25QibXwojpEpcg/s1600/agatha_orient.jpg" /></a></div>
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By my bedside, on a satin display cushion, will be a first edition of Agatha Christie’s classic book, Murder on the Orient Express. I’d read it wearing silk gloves, every so often discreetly sniffing the pages. Mmm. Book dust.<br />
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<a href="http://www.abebooks.co.uk/servlet/BookDetailsPL?bi=5765252228&searchurl=an%3DCHRISTIE%252C%2BAGATHA%26fe%3Don%26kn%3DOrient%26sortby%3D1" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Both books pictured can be found via AbeBooks.com</span></a><br />
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<b>Perfume</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcsRX_KDERJKcH-1g45SuBpnSp0cjmi_F3t20GsIoyvwYKs3XzMXNxOpDSMk-7hTUKc0o_fRIwA_AcarkntGcINXlTl7OhY8yck8yVm5-nIDjX95uUIFNoK83IECPNpFEF6YJ_apqkor4/s1600/perfume.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcsRX_KDERJKcH-1g45SuBpnSp0cjmi_F3t20GsIoyvwYKs3XzMXNxOpDSMk-7hTUKc0o_fRIwA_AcarkntGcINXlTl7OhY8yck8yVm5-nIDjX95uUIFNoK83IECPNpFEF6YJ_apqkor4/s1600/perfume.jpg" /></a></div>
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If not delicately dabbing my wrists in the finest book dust, then the deciding factor in perfume shall be whether the bottle looks either like a) the ‘Drink me’ bottle in Alice in Wonderland, or b) the bottle the White Witch uses to make Turkish Delight appear, as in the original text. In the film I believe she uses a wand – yawn. Wands are so passé.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Tenniel" target="_blank">Alice illustration by John Tenniel </a><br /><a href="http://pinterest.com/devined/vintage-perfume-bottles/" target="_blank">Vintage Perfume Bottles via Dee Devine, Pinterest </a></span><br />
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<b>Handbag</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYxufgdECRKtwPT8vDEgm1dVneTbUs126pKHNLKCtb91NAymLaknHUAm8omdCa3mSmAshmtJK16-MV2Os5SzUGVCOH_cllzzhyphenhyphenRgX9qb-eERSp0MXgbqkpO579fnt8UioY8JeHqL8n6XM/s1600/handbags.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYxufgdECRKtwPT8vDEgm1dVneTbUs126pKHNLKCtb91NAymLaknHUAm8omdCa3mSmAshmtJK16-MV2Os5SzUGVCOH_cllzzhyphenhyphenRgX9qb-eERSp0MXgbqkpO579fnt8UioY8JeHqL8n6XM/s1600/handbags.jpg" /></a></div>
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My handbag on the Orient Express shall be a giant ball of exquisite fluff, hand-gathered from the back of Buckingham Palace’s sofas and settees. Should this prove unavailable, I’d go for either something vintage-inspired and chic, such as Diane von Furstenberg’s Fetish Box Clutch, or something that looks like a bling-covered Fisher Price toy for adults, such as Judith Leiber’s Carousel Miniature. Inside this I shall carry a compact silver mirror, a red lipstick, and a Liberty print silk handkerchief.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.harrods.com/product/fetish-box-clutch/diane-von-furstenberg/000000000002948622?cat1=new-accessories&cat2=new-accessories-women-handbags" target="_blank">Diane von Furstenberg’s Fetish Box Clutch at Harrods</a><br /><a href="http://www.harrods.com/product/carousel-miniature/judith-leiber/000000000002701504?cat1=new-accessories&cat2=new-accessories-women-handbags" target="_blank">Judith Leiber’s Carousel Miniature at Harrods</a></span><br />
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<b>Suitcase</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY1FqkAN0XgxdMMEkGrzF3hn0I9fT8Sk5xMnvVyZ-cY-At06-_vBZ6n1CfLzyYQQQ7sE7i3zA3FnxJwA1lNYBg6Qz01e5VTWmFwfo8qUfdcUCTCpUxFSqZqvqkMcg-IytQoS-y1mdk_iw/s1600/suitcases.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY1FqkAN0XgxdMMEkGrzF3hn0I9fT8Sk5xMnvVyZ-cY-At06-_vBZ6n1CfLzyYQQQ7sE7i3zA3FnxJwA1lNYBg6Qz01e5VTWmFwfo8qUfdcUCTCpUxFSqZqvqkMcg-IytQoS-y1mdk_iw/s1600/suitcases.jpg" /></a></div>
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This has to be a 1930s brown case of battered, but good quality, leather. The sort that muscular train porters can carry for me, considering the bastard bollocking thing has no wheels. *Note to self, never ever swear like my Auntie Shirley on the Orient Express*<br />
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<a href="http://www.thedogandwardrobe.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Dog and Wardrobe</span></a><br />
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<b>Jewellery</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-bQg3NMFyFWMGZT9og01UcxPIddzhiVSRigvMginnyWRYyNbWd6TBS25BM45Njla4jHBQ6i2FSv2NfB1ACY_ZqamufeH0hEiMJnfwKRn9FjoO2OAzCFC5K5JgJdAqV5Y9OYGvIo4DSg/s1600/diamonds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-bQg3NMFyFWMGZT9og01UcxPIddzhiVSRigvMginnyWRYyNbWd6TBS25BM45Njla4jHBQ6i2FSv2NfB1ACY_ZqamufeH0hEiMJnfwKRn9FjoO2OAzCFC5K5JgJdAqV5Y9OYGvIo4DSg/s1600/diamonds.jpg" /></a></div>
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Diamonds are a girl’s best friend... although of course a diamond is no good at texting ‘lol!’, sharing cupcakes, and gossiping at sleepovers. However, a diamond won’t also nick your first boyfriend, to put it in context. Moving on from teenage life, if I’m on the Orient Express, I’d like my fingers to be adorned with something sparkly, please. And my ears. And my neck. And my wrists. I might stop there. Maybe. (I have actually gone all Small and Solemn at the prices.)<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.tiffany.co.uk/" target="_blank">Tiffany & Co</a><br /><a href="http://www.liberty.co.uk/" target="_blank">Liberty</a></span><br />
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<b>Fifi La Chew and Philippe La Mew</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWrkOHNGpV8xArZLv3x1qjqjW9uvgAPUL4g8YwAWefyT1zw61YM-Q2vLfPWP-Uga5u7J3CLibYw_WzazptmUCPhvnS46OjaLU-H2sQLORsvctGB2zHRZB3hXjCg0yCncBnxkPpRN_EP-o/s1600/LaMew_LaChew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWrkOHNGpV8xArZLv3x1qjqjW9uvgAPUL4g8YwAWefyT1zw61YM-Q2vLfPWP-Uga5u7J3CLibYw_WzazptmUCPhvnS46OjaLU-H2sQLORsvctGB2zHRZB3hXjCg0yCncBnxkPpRN_EP-o/s1600/LaMew_LaChew.jpg" /></a></div>
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La Chew and La Mew are Chihuahuas that fiendishly disguise themselves as cats. Did they fool you? They are the ginger master and tabby mistress of illusion. Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-18000880333379030792012-11-13T13:24:00.000+00:002013-09-17T17:59:05.926+01:00Things to remember in November<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7XBsM8FX_YsU9txntvmExYpcIGpryGh22PGEPXjXhoGEoS84ZckhCovhs19m1lmizLW2crcnoz1FidEXUKJFoSqavrkG1dnKkY0TKDv9-8iPTQHrf4cPO8_7BbJkfcJJQK4Mro8FKYQA/s1600/IMG_1798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7XBsM8FX_YsU9txntvmExYpcIGpryGh22PGEPXjXhoGEoS84ZckhCovhs19m1lmizLW2crcnoz1FidEXUKJFoSqavrkG1dnKkY0TKDv9-8iPTQHrf4cPO8_7BbJkfcJJQK4Mro8FKYQA/s200/IMG_1798.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Autumn days when the grass is jewelled...</i></td></tr>
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November is traditionally a time of remembrance. We have Remembrance Sunday where we wear poppies, observe a two-minute silence, and think about the people who were killed during the wars. People like to say these brave souls ‘gave their lives’ but that sounds so graceful, like a present exchange. Romancing the world wars (or any war) glosses over how bloody awful they are for everyone. I always wear a poppy... and then realise halfway through the day that I’m wearing a pin... and then buy another... and lose it. Poppies are up there with pens, cigarette lighters, and umbrellas. They are all part of the grand Lost Item Shuffle.<br />
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In the UK we observe another act of remembrance in November, which is Fireworks Day. Here we traditionally burn an effigy on a bonfire and send fireworks into the sky, a custom held to remember that Guy Fawkes did not manage to blow up Parliament in 1605. We are basically having a nice evening out remembering a loser, folks. Don’t forget the jacket potatoes.<br />
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November is also that time of year when you must remember to pack your bag with all manner of warm items as the temperature plummets and sunny days prove a thermometer mirage. So far each day I have forgotten one of the following: hat, gloves, scarf, extra layer, umbrella (which classes as a warm item in my world as rain is cold). Forgetting a glove is particularly annoying. One hand is like a well-pampered Victorian, the other a shivering pauper.<br />
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I often find myself, after happily living off salads throughout spring and summer, trying to remember if I can indeed cook during November. You’ll see me in the supermarket, eyebrows in a knot, quizzically hefting a butternut squash, or prodding a pumpkin. There’ll be all manner of soup experiments and enthusiastic forays into recipe books – some meals successful, others bequeathed with love and best wishes to the cats.<br />
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The 11th month of the year is generally the time when I remember things that all year have been forgotten, such as dry-cleaning coats and wondering why I don’t yet own a pair of fluffy pyjamas, or slipper boots, or one of those enormous Snuggie Slanket things. Like a squirrel hoarding nuts, I take stock of all I’ve achieved (anything?), and launch tentative plans to finish This by December and That by January, vowing in the manner of Del Boy, that this time next year I’ll be a millionaire.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-18913818810157306892012-10-25T17:07:00.000+01:002012-10-25T17:07:04.740+01:00Author interview: Pamela TerrySometimes you read a blog and wish for that blogger to write a book. You know in your heart it will be the most magical book – the sort of book that you simply can’t wait to read, the sort of book you can sink into at the end of a long day, the sort of book that is pivotal to a lazy Sunday, a picnic by a stream, a favourite armchair in a patch on sunlight. And so you click on their blog and hope one day, one day – and now that day is finally here! Pamela Terry, the writer behind the lovely blog <a href="http://fromthehouseofedward.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">From The House of Edward</a>, has turned her beautiful words into a book, and I’m so very pleased for her, and for us!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG9Nrea1Dbw2oqQUwd3MOa7oF6qs7aCqg3nPZxjkQw7WZu-Fh8jgk3yu9X7vz93jVHrIVXnsueiGceqZjjEsRffiZM2fbCd4w-ee88o0SiLhuzodbVXzC_62ng4Vb9UFYGSrc7OQ3I6lU/s1600/pamela_terry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG9Nrea1Dbw2oqQUwd3MOa7oF6qs7aCqg3nPZxjkQw7WZu-Fh8jgk3yu9X7vz93jVHrIVXnsueiGceqZjjEsRffiZM2fbCd4w-ee88o0SiLhuzodbVXzC_62ng4Vb9UFYGSrc7OQ3I6lU/s320/pamela_terry.jpg" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pamela and Edward</i></td></tr>
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I’m also delighted to welcome Pamela (and Edward!) onto my blog to celebrate. Let's find out more...<br />
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<b>Can you describe your book to us?</b> <br />
The book is a collection of essays on a wide variety of topics, but mostly centering on how taking notice of the seemingly insignificant bits of life can make the world turn in a more beautiful and meaningful way. I really wanted the book to be something beautifully made, something lovely to look at and delightful to hold in one’s hand and I’m thrilled to say that I think it turned out to be exactly that.<br />
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<b>Where would we be ideally sitting reading your book?</b><br />
Snuggled up in a four-poster bed on a rainy night or under a tree in an ancient forest would be ideal, I suppose. But I’m happy to think you could dip in and out of this book anywhere from the breakfast table to the train.<br />
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<b>What made you decide to turn your blog into a book?</b><br />
To be honest, it never occurred to me until I began getting letters requesting it. Those letters got more and more frequent so I decided to pull away from the novel I’m working on and make it happen. It was a lot more work than I expected but now that’s it’s done, I’m really glad I did it.<br />
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<b>How did you choose what posts to be included – is there a theme? </b><br />
The book is divided up into seasons, but I wouldn’t say there is a specific theme apart from the joy of discovering beauty in the quotidian parts of life. Of course there are stories about Edward, my big white dog, scattered throughout. He is a sweet and constant reminder of all that is good and after all, the book is named for him.<br />
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<b>Will there be additional material for a long-term blog-reader to discover?</b> <br />
Actually, all of the pieces have been reworked a bit and there are a few new things as well. The editing process took much longer than I anticipated.<br />
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<b>Describe where you like to write?</b> <br />
I have a big, fat chair in my library that is covered in a velvet floral that I love. I sit cross-legged in that chair with my laptop. The room is lined with books and a couple of favourite paintings. There is a hand-painted mirror on the wall by the door that I purchased at a tiny little shop in Paris years ago and carried home in my suitcase wrapped up in shawls and sweaters. There is a long window over the desk to my left that I like to leave open; I can’t see out of it from my chair so it’s not distracting, but I can hear the birds singing and the wind blowing. Edward is usually asleep at my feet.<br />
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<b>What’s currently on your desk? </b><br />
Far too much, at the moment. There’s a spool of antique velvet ribbon and a skein of blue-black wool. Several journals and a collection of favourite pens that, sadly, I keep losing. A framed photograph of Jacqueline Bouvier when she was a little girl. Something about her direct stare into the camera serves to remind me that we are born with our essential natures, we only embellish or strip away as we get older. Eyeglasses. My property tax bill... evil thing that it is. And a photograph of Shilasdair yarn shop on the Isle of Skye, the setting of which is, to me, pure heaven.<br />
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<b>What gives you inspiration? </b> <br />
Just about everything, I’m afraid. The way a snowfall changes the light in the house. The individual personalities of trees. Wind. The colour of a perfect strawberry. The way grass feels on my bare feet. The rainbow of book spines on a library shelf. The Highlands of Scotland. Edward’s smile. Adele’s voice. Cinnamon. Wit. Really, inspiration is constant in my life.<br />
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<b>If you could time-travel for a day, where would you go? </b><br />
I was completely besotted with Elizabethan England when I was a little girl. To wander around Windsor Castle or Hampton Court on a day when the Queen herself was in residence would be amazing to me. And let’s not forget, Shakespeare would be around somewhere as well! If I were only there for one day, my chances of getting in serious trouble would be greatly diminished. I’ve read Wolf Hall... I know how precarious life was then!<br />
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<b>Like me, you are a big fan of autumn / fall. What does this season mean to you?</b><br />
Perhaps it’s because the summers are so sweltering where I live, but autumn signals the start of a new year for me each time it rolls around. I love everything about it - the fragrance of woodsmoke in the air, the brisk weather, the colours, the clothes, the food. It’s a very sensual season. And it doesn’t hurt that Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas are celebrated during this time as well. Every day in autumn seems like a treat to me.<br />
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<b>What are Edward and Apple doing right now? </b><br />
Edward is asleep on the floor beneath my chair, with his head resting on my feet. Apple is in the window seat in the next room keeping a constant vigil for her nemesis, the dreaded squirrel. Upon spotting one, she will let out a yelp that will bring Edward running. That’s Apple’s job as she sees it. She’s the sentry, Edward’s the enforcer.<br />
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<b>What song always makes you get up and dance around your kitchen? </b> <br />
Have you been peeking in my kitchen window?? My husband and I are serious kitchen dancers! Our last slow dance in the kitchen was to Because by the Dave Clark Five. I highly recommend that one. For fast dances, which both dogs join in on by the way, you really can’t beat Bruce Springsteen’s Cadillac Ranch. Oh, and Son of a Preacher Man by Dusty Springfield is especially good when you’re making soup.<br />
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<b>Do you have any guilty pleasures?</b><br />
Fresh flowers, pedicures, great old country house hotels and coffee ice cream.<br />
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<b>If you could be an artist, who would you be and why?</b><br />
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be able to paint! I’d probably choose Lord Frederick Leighton. I adore the romantic atmosphere of his paintings; I could stare at the folds of the lady’s green dress in The Painter’s Honeymoon for hours. And as a huge added plus, if I were Lord Leighton, I would get to live in that exquisite house of his in Holland Park.<br />
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<b>If you could live inside a work of fiction, what book would you choose, and why?</b><br />
It’s tempting to say Harry Potter, of course. To ride into town on a broom is outrageously irresistible. I’d love to work in Mulberry’s flower shop, like Miss Pym in Mrs. Dalloway. I’d spend my days looking out the window at that perfect London morning, surrounded by lilies and lilacs. Or living inside Swallows and Amazons would be delicious. And, if you could remove the crazy lady from the attic of Thornfield Hall, I’ve always thought Jane Eyre wouldn’t be bad. But I think I’d have to choose Mary Poppins. To live in long ago London with the sense of grand possibility that she provided would be wonderful. Imagine jumping into paintings!<br />
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<i>Thank you so much, Pamela! I really enjoyed reading your answers. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8orxCfkG35AC4IvTnyLotO6LoDuNU7Y6XGBuDhBcCfp9TdFOcoBtc0g7fe2hnkeave9UPdwzHZ45SdSEKT9-IuMpIheK056RhA60wS_lWwEikguRtusZwP_jxphyphenhyphen31bk0GvNIicUmxAs/s1600/From_The_House_Of_Edward.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8orxCfkG35AC4IvTnyLotO6LoDuNU7Y6XGBuDhBcCfp9TdFOcoBtc0g7fe2hnkeave9UPdwzHZ45SdSEKT9-IuMpIheK056RhA60wS_lWwEikguRtusZwP_jxphyphenhyphen31bk0GvNIicUmxAs/s1600/From_The_House_Of_Edward.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>It's a book! A real book! Yay!</i></td></tr>
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<b>Book details</b><br />
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From The House of Edward<br />
Essays by Pamela Terry<br />
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Available now from Pamela's website: <a href="http://www.pamelaterry.net/">www.pamelaterry.net</a><br />
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<b>Blog details</b><br />
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Follow Pamela and Edward's adventures...<b><br /></b>
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<a href="http://fromthehouseofedward.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">From The House of Edward</a><br />
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<br />Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-9469233820471862272012-10-17T17:24:00.000+01:002012-10-17T17:24:00.362+01:00Book review: The Age of Miracles by Karen Thompson WalkerI have a flurry of book reviews waiting in a line to be published. I chose <i>The Age of Miracles</i> to go first as it pushed its way to the front wearing a sparkly feather boa, tapping its watch.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyNe3X9hW27eWN84AhIcX-Ozb8LqLeiyaM67gjSp9gXfAmyLU3FqDIgjlz_SNaUqgu3gFdOlyVsUHpVh8QntOWmQx_FQpnZdshHA5F7crBwA9p-e6evNIE5UZ0Zx5ewxCwCAx6FZOgt4k/s1600/Age_Of_Miracles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyNe3X9hW27eWN84AhIcX-Ozb8LqLeiyaM67gjSp9gXfAmyLU3FqDIgjlz_SNaUqgu3gFdOlyVsUHpVh8QntOWmQx_FQpnZdshHA5F7crBwA9p-e6evNIE5UZ0Zx5ewxCwCAx6FZOgt4k/s200/Age_Of_Miracles.jpg" width="131" /></a><b>The Age of Miracles by Karen Thompson Walker</b><br />
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<i>Publisher: Simon & Schuster<br />Published: June 2012</i><br />
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I enjoyed this book so much that I let friends borrow it, and they in turn told their friends, and so the ripples of reader recommendation slowly widened like the hours of the day in this apocalyptic novel.<br />
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What would happen if the day grew longer than 24 hours? This is the question at the heart of this novel, and it is a very clever, original concept. I especially like the way the author told the story from a 12-year old child’s point of view, as in a way a child has to be more accepting – they have to fall in line with however their parents have chosen to deal with the situation. So we see life from our narrator’s narrow angle – how school would continue, how those all-important first romances still blossom, how the adult world strives to keep control. Perhaps using a child protagonist saved the author some headaches – as a child isn’t expected to understand or explain the scientific realities of such an event – and so we never know why this happened, what caused it, or how it can be solved, either. Like the child, we have to also fall in line with the part the author wants to focus on – the actual event, referred to as ‘The Slowing’.<br />
<br />
As epic dystopias go, or even disaster fiction, The Age of Miracles is surely up there on a grand scale. I realised that halfway through I couldn’t remember the protagonist’s name – but it didn’t matter, really. This is one of those stories where the idea eclipses the characters. There is a part where the narrator feels the need to mark her name in wet concrete to show she was there – and this to me is allegorical of her character’s part in the story – I as a reader need to remember she’s there, too, despite my fascination with discovering how civilisation adapts to a precarious situation. But the author understands this, and so she gives her characters compelling but quiet parts to play – from skateboarding pragmatic Seth to Sylvia, the hippy pianist trying to continue on clock time. <br />
<br />
There is page-turning build up of tension throughout this novel, although the inevitable ending swiftly becomes apparent – an idea so rooted in reality cannot conceivably support a fantasy conclusion. The movie rights have been optioned by River Road Entertainment (Brokeback Mountain, etc) so it will be interesting to see how they approach it, as there isn’t a hero, or a satisfactory Hollywood finale. Instead we are left to imagine what happens after, and as such the premise lingers for a very long time.<br />
<br />
As a debut, this was a fantastic read, and I’ll definitely be looking out for the next story from this author.<br />
<br />
The author's website: <a href="http://www.theageofmiraclesbook.com/">www.theageofmiraclesbook.com</a>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-57766284132982138982012-10-03T13:12:00.000+01:002012-10-03T13:12:08.529+01:00Desk stories<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDETaFMugWW_VSXVDTzTJbQ1hu32jM648solafWRjYB__fAuxQNnEWSSzvUqKAB7n68x2hnAILl3_DPoInsmg4sGpc_PU7j6TlFnnvaE4jJ6bBaWmOxLa2l5CQQQJSlYAhVXfqeH8LZ1Q/s1600/magic_door.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDETaFMugWW_VSXVDTzTJbQ1hu32jM648solafWRjYB__fAuxQNnEWSSzvUqKAB7n68x2hnAILl3_DPoInsmg4sGpc_PU7j6TlFnnvaE4jJ6bBaWmOxLa2l5CQQQJSlYAhVXfqeH8LZ1Q/s200/magic_door.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A Magic Door</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My 9-5 work desk is totally chaotic, I realised.<br />
<br />
To the left the surface is covered with various work papers, underneath which is my A5 planner diary, open on this week, a pen lodged down its spine. My iPhone is charging, my glasses case is abandoned (I don’t need glasses, ok? *squints*), my hair-band is escaping to a new land under the keyboard.<br />
<br />
My monitor is propped higher on various medical books (work-related) and is also home to a calendar, a pencil sharpener, and a branded fluffy pink hippo key-ring with soulful purple eyes.<br />
<br />
<br />
There are various post-it notes stuck around the monitor, some work-related reminders, some doodles. One is a magic door. I haven’t decided quite where it leads yet, but it's obviously been waiting there a while, since the date of the photo is saying April. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiRPWa_n1XnI-38HEa1Gr8WGHBLulQ81mVD5g9a1MQlovCti6o42qXHdKOm9Ovi6u6V_93W1HGc1RPyBPTw10NGrhUhMobgQRq_TgFmrJL7on6IQuvOaLEYBIXtd3OonInl8DXcif7mHc/s1600/origami.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiRPWa_n1XnI-38HEa1Gr8WGHBLulQ81mVD5g9a1MQlovCti6o42qXHdKOm9Ovi6u6V_93W1HGc1RPyBPTw10NGrhUhMobgQRq_TgFmrJL7on6IQuvOaLEYBIXtd3OonInl8DXcif7mHc/s200/origami.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A Fortune Teller</i></td></tr>
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Next to the monitor is an origami fortune teller. Let's choose our fate for today... Pink, 1, and number 4... <i>'A new opportunity is coming your way'. </i>Oh, how exciting! I think I need one. Actually that is the nicest of the fortunes, I seem to recall. Others include developing a coffee-related facial tic, and being the office plant killer.<br />
<br />
To the right of me are various pen-lids (who eats my pens?), fluorescent markers, Tippex, scissors, a stapler, and Pritt stick. There is also a slim bottle of Rescue Remedy (dusty), really ancient herbal teabags, salt, mustard, and Gaviscon. (Are they related?) A banana and a tangerine waits for tea-time. Headache pills lurk beneath a flyer for a vintage fair.<br />
<br />
Discarded Metro newspapers litter the outer reaches of the desk, along with a doodle of an unhappy girl. A full glass of water and an empty mug are by my side - my priorities are always caffeinated. On the shelf two origami boats are filled with conkers (horse chestnuts). On the wall there are doodles – mainly of me strangling computers, a postcard telling me to ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’, various Nemi cartoons cut out from Metro, a Bauhaus exhibition leaflet, and Waterhouse’s Pre-Raphaelite Miranda, still waiting for her ship to come in.<br /><br />I feel this desk is far too telling of my emotions!<br /><br /><b>What’s on your desk? </b>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-84839583984987331092012-09-25T18:42:00.000+01:002012-09-25T18:42:32.498+01:00Menorca memories<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPdr2zBa3PUhmDyZS_OWnx9B4gpz2aQslEeguEnh7tXDnViU8PzHA6SHn1xNwxImB2BSHqnthUpx951quzGFYwpYb8e-orZl7rXs72SF9SmbzXciY8Zxxhf0dc3nA1cdomaeiGrIwmXw/s1600/IMG_1454.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPdr2zBa3PUhmDyZS_OWnx9B4gpz2aQslEeguEnh7tXDnViU8PzHA6SHn1xNwxImB2BSHqnthUpx951quzGFYwpYb8e-orZl7rXs72SF9SmbzXciY8Zxxhf0dc3nA1cdomaeiGrIwmXw/s200/IMG_1454.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Views like this make me dream of stories </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b>Mr Snaffle Shorts</b><br />
<br />
I watched Mr Snaffle Shorts sidle around the hotel’s breakfast buffet. He’d carefully secret rolls in napkins before slipping them into his trouser pockets, and a quick sleight of hand would make other things disappear the same way – fruit, foil wrapped butter, cheese and ham, mini croissants. Every morning he’d appear in his special snaffling shorts and would cruise the buffet with a smug little smile – happy to be getting ‘one over’ on the management. I stole a glance at his wife. She didn’t look quite so content. She was probably contemplating yet another lunchtime eating sweaty cheese rolls on the beach, and yet another evening shaking crumbs and ketchup sachets out of the Snaffle Shorts. I’m sure that if asked she would side with her husband – they’ve paid for that food so by gosh they would eat it – but I am equally sure that if one morning he turned to her and said ‘darling – sod the snaffle shorts! Today at lunch let’s find a restaurant!’ – that her face would grow young and her smile would light the room.<br />
<br />
<b>‘Si vous plais, per favor’</b><br />
<br />
I was incredibly enamoured with the idea of being able to speak Spanish when I was ten years old. I pestered my mother for a ‘teach yourself Spanish’ book, and was rewarded with one that, although marketed to children, contained the most bizarre exchanges I’d ever seen. Every phrase was oddly adult - ‘Excuse me, can I have a safety deposit box?’ and ‘ Hello – I would like to do some laundry, please.’ Somehow out of poor beginnings I managed to cobble together some knowledge – how to count to ten, simple polite greetings, and how to say ‘I like...’ (but of course!). I never actually took Spanish at school, sadly – I stuck to French – but I can still remember that phrase book, so had fun unleashing my Norf Lahndon Spanish accent into Menorca. Luckily my lovely travel buddy, good friend R, is far more knowledgeable at Spanish, and could steer the way when I lapsed into French instead – most memorable being ‘si vous plais, per favor’. Still, I think people were happy we made the effort!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigjc1FAGDh9p0Z2JH71baZVBqo523WDsqp787FKVP3kF3jhOZQHVN1uDJs269bl5VOO4C-hJWAvjexGCY6YuJr6WMqZEaZPThunnAR5tuqRYVEdompvnkqVH9SJ7pt_dEbsSVTkdqvjgo/s1600/IMG_1448.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigjc1FAGDh9p0Z2JH71baZVBqo523WDsqp787FKVP3kF3jhOZQHVN1uDJs269bl5VOO4C-hJWAvjexGCY6YuJr6WMqZEaZPThunnAR5tuqRYVEdompvnkqVH9SJ7pt_dEbsSVTkdqvjgo/s200/IMG_1448.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Oblivious sun-worshipers</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Sketching on the beach</b><br />
<br />
Art has taken a back seat over the years to writing, but this holiday I was determined to get back into it and start sketching – anywhere we paused for ten minutes or so, out came the sketchbook. It was easier to draw from sight than from memory and I really enjoyed letting my vision absorb the surroundings and pick out little details. When you write or work with computers there is barely any distance between your eyes and the screen, and so it was wonderful to gaze my fill upon distance and colour. I vowed to start carrying my sketchbook with me everywhere again, but oh how quick it is to fall back into city grievances – my bag is too small, there’s no room on the trains and tube, I’m too tired. Pah. Although I could buy a bigger bag... *eyes light up at a solution that involves shopping*<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBwK6kMVA4bjz9Uuvt4SoH6pNWvVVNg5ctjyEI9cbg8NNnsUa9fieXB6jlH80vwP4HW81ISr4GvYBCYRY68YkPfEu76Gym_yTP0vFIFJ4FNGRX1aUUc0eMNBPlMe2b4FMCUFjLAFlnBw0/s1600/IMG_1447.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBwK6kMVA4bjz9Uuvt4SoH6pNWvVVNg5ctjyEI9cbg8NNnsUa9fieXB6jlH80vwP4HW81ISr4GvYBCYRY68YkPfEu76Gym_yTP0vFIFJ4FNGRX1aUUc0eMNBPlMe2b4FMCUFjLAFlnBw0/s200/IMG_1447.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The beach at Cala Galdana - <br />good friend R is in the foreground</i></td></tr>
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<b> The pre-school Greek Chorus</b><br />
<br />
As we boarded the homeward bound flight, a high proportion of toddlers boarded with us (and with their parents, naturally). Our little Greek chorus expressed everyone’s most hidden flying fears by wailing as loud as they could on the ascent. Thankfully they quietened when the plane levelled, no doubt pacified by whatever sweet and chewy thing their desperate parents could shove at them, and the flight continued smoothly... for a bit. As we neared the UK we hit a bit of turbulence – and one member of the Greek chorus – a small boy of around three years old – didn’t like it at all. He began a steady sob as the plane started its wobbly slow descent, and then at the top of his lungs suddenly yelled ‘I DON’T WANT TO DIE!’ It’s not the sort of thing you want to hear mid bouncy flight, to be honest. Mostly, though, I felt really sorry for him – someone must’ve scared him about flying or he’d seen something far too adult somewhere down the line – as it’s an odd association for a little boy to make. His parents tried to comfort him, but we were stuck with repeated yells of ‘I DON’T WANT TO DIE!’ all the way to touch down. I’d never been so relieved to land!<br />
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<b>A summary</b><br />
<br />
Menorca is a lovely, lovely island – with white sandy beaches, lots of history, individualist housing, and beautiful winding city streets. I did lots of gazing out to sea, and dreaming about future plans, and pondering steps to make future plans part of the present plan, and wondering whether I have a present plan and does it actually involve treats? I also had a fantastic time with lovely travel buddy, as ever – we find the same things incredibly amusing, we like the same quiet moments, and we natter about everything under the sun – and the sun we were under was kind to us, and didn’t burn or disappear behind clouds. If only a week didn’t gallop and recede so fast – feels like a long time ago now!Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-29302787812940899592012-09-05T17:39:00.000+01:002012-09-05T17:40:59.011+01:00September sunHello lovely bloggers! I hope the summer has been good and kind to you, and you are all pushing forward with your creative dreams. Do you feel refreshed and eager to forge ahead?<br />
<br />
September is my favourite month. It hides a birthday (nope! Not telling! But not a decade changer. *grins*) .<br />
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I always feel that birthdays are our individual New Year – the world does a personal pivot and everything and anything is possible. My favourite colours come out to play in September – the beautiful russet and gold-tarnished leaves, the smudged sunsets and chalky sunrises. The last display of the sun is always its most spectacular, reminding us not to forget as the year grows dark and gathers itself inside to crouch by the fire. The blues of the sky shine with a frosted tinge felt in the extremities of morning and evening. Blooms and blossoms are soporific with berries – a woodland walk during daylight hours smells warm and content. The natural world is slowly preparing its bed, although there’s plenty of time yet for one last waltz – Nature saves its best frocks for such an occasion, and dresses each tree and bush with extra garlands. There is so much potential in this magical time of year.<br />
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I’m having a bit of a slow dance with the novel at the moment. I feel like I’ve been precariously clinging to the side of commuter life but lost my grip earlier this year and got suddenly and rudely whooshed down the plug hole into the thick of it. There are no port-holes down there; it’s a whirl of Stuff, like a mini cyclone – all of it claiming panicked dominance one after the other after the other – no time to breathe, to take stock of what feels right, what feels important. Every so often I cling to a ledge and try to focus on my heart’s desire – at which point Stuff will shriek with laughter and tug at my arms until I’m back whirling again, all raggedly around the edges.<br />
<br />
But occasionally a rope is thrown towards me from above - usually from Wise Lovely Friends, who know me very well indeed, and understand I’m prone to Stuff and Worries. Sometimes I even tear work shirts into strips and make my own escape rope – and although that is a far rarer occurrence; it does happen, as eventually even a whirly person gets fed up of being whirled and decides to take control.<br />
<br />
So I’m clambering up again. I’ve got a holiday booked – a real-honest-to-God-proper-holiday – with beach, sun, swimming, and relaxing. A chance to have a think about where I’m going and what I want to achieve. And I think blogging regularly again will help massively – I’ve missed my connection with authors and artists – from self published stars to wannabe writers, from people up at 5am to scribble stories to people making scrapbooks for their next artistic project, from stylish bloggers who inspire with photography to thoughtful bloggers who make me think, smile, and plan perfect interiors for my castle in the sky. I’ve missed you all! You’re a big part of my creative life. <br />
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I’ll be back from my holiday on the 15th September – and will hopefully bring tales of azure sea and sun-kissed sand, of ancient white-washed stone houses guarded by olive trees, of bustling market places in fountain-splashed courtyards, of glistening harbours and boats laying anchor, and of a girl, her friend, their sketchbooks, and possibly a few stray cat buddies.<br />
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<br />
xJaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-53218550149817903522012-08-13T16:57:00.000+01:002012-08-13T16:57:39.097+01:00See You In September<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I’ve not gone away; I’m just being quiet<br />
Too much turbulence caused by emotional riot<br />
I’m thinking in September that time will start anew<br />
Energy will flow once more and this blog will renew<br />
But until then I’m collecting stories and ideas<br />
Conjuring grand plans to karate kick wet sand into fears<br />
I wish you all well in your artistic endeavours<br />
And look forward to catching up in calmer weather</span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In the meantime if you've a hankering to chat or to witter</span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Please do <a href="https://twitter.com/jayneferst" target="_blank">click this link and you'll find me on Twitter</a></span></i><br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">x <br /> </span></i></div>
Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-8111993852486700742012-06-27T18:13:00.001+01:002012-07-20T10:10:25.691+01:00Per aspera ad astra!<i>Through difficulties to the stars!</i><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6sZDTEtT3BgLsCJ3IOs5RAIqDeEEfF0ZcPeDs4WhtL6tyJn3X2MCzUs5_7rlgZl8BqajpGn5ak9l_Wm2Knu9IgGy2GXWGJv5MkbGXrzJzJmL3Iod2q1WCUlC3kEcpsRJw9e5fvZspgc8/s1600/girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6sZDTEtT3BgLsCJ3IOs5RAIqDeEEfF0ZcPeDs4WhtL6tyJn3X2MCzUs5_7rlgZl8BqajpGn5ak9l_Wm2Knu9IgGy2GXWGJv5MkbGXrzJzJmL3Iod2q1WCUlC3kEcpsRJw9e5fvZspgc8/s200/girl.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where's me hands?!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It’s been very hard to write anything over the last couple of months, and testimony to that is the lack of blog posts. When you’re feeling sad your fingers are sad too; they droop and wilt over the keyboard, complain of headaches when they strike the keys, and refuse to type anything other than exceedingly bad poetry. But when writing stories is the thing that seems to complete you; that defines how you see yourself; that is at once relaxing and fun and provides escapism, then sooner or later it’ll be time to pick up the metaphorical quill again.<br />
<br />
There is so much to say and perhaps I’ll soon catch up relaying marvellous events – there was a brilliant vintage hen party complete with Victory rolls and garnished by the Best of British Swing Ball (a dance, not a sport). There was an amazingly gorgeous wedding in a 15th century Royal Palace. There has been much riffling through vintage fairs to find gorgeous dresses (for above wedding), a visit to Somerset that sparkled through the rain-drops, a boy-band concert that was a nostalgic teenage time-warp, and dancing – much dancing, with a 1940s rock-step and Charleston happy feet.<br />
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But there have also been many moments of reflection and wondering about my Curriculum Vitae – my journey (course) through life. Oh, so much Latin today! Partly I’m excited for the future – all those possibilities – but equally I’m fearful, and that’s the problem. There’s a pesky internal scuppering that seems to go on behind the scenes and I’m sick of it! Begone, scampering scupperers. <br />
<br />
And what about the never-ending story? What about The Novel? The good news is that I did a read-through a few days ago and like it more than ever. The better news is that I’ve booked two whole days off the 9-5 to write my fingers (and thumbs) off, which is coming up just around the nearest weekend-shaped corner. Bring it on, I say. Let's visit those stars.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-71622115701630268252012-06-04T19:26:00.001+01:002012-07-05T14:54:11.828+01:00The Facebook Friend<br />
'I don't do Facebook', I said, laughing, when my Aunt Olivia asked. She tried to convince me, saying it was a great way to stay in touch, but I demurred. It didn't stop her from finding me on Facebook, though - an empty account set up so a friend could show me some photos - and sending me a friend request. It popped up in my email but I didn't confirm, and so got used to seeing a reminder each time Facebook tried to snarl me.<br />
<br />
‘You have a friend request!’ it would say, and there my aunt would be, smiling out from her profile picture. <br />
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We were in touch in other ways, of course. She was the friendly face who understood me, the warm voice on the end of a phone, the person who always remembered what was important to me, who took time to ask about my life. We shared the same (rather dark) sense of humour. She got on with everyone – a practical, pro-active person who didn’t dwell in the past but lived for the moment, for the future. <br />
<br />
Perhaps familiar with other families who have experienced a lot of bereavement, there is a tendency to look behind, to think that the best of times have already been and gone, something I found very hard to deal with as a young teenager still growing into her life. Olivia’s way of looking ahead was always a much needed breath of fresh air to me and yet she was incredibly thoughtful, such as suggesting that we hold a party on the <a href="http://jayneferst.blogspot.co.uk/2008/03/twenty-years.html" target="_blank">20th anniversary of my dad’s death</a> to celebrate his life, and being there for me – and for my mum especially – in so many ways.<br />
<br />
When we found out Olivia had cancer a few years ago it was devastating. She took it in her stride, and her positive outlook and strength sent it into remission. During this time <a href="http://jayneferst.blogspot.co.uk/2010/12/forever-fabulous.html" target="_blank">we lost another aunt of mine</a>, also to cancer. It felt like there had been some sort of impossible trade – one aunt had sadly passed away but that meant the other stayed, surely? <br />
<br />
Sometimes answers to questions stay silent.<br />
<br />
The cancer came back in March with frightening speed. Now the talk was palliative, not cure. Now we all heard the invisible clock relentlessly ticking. But we tried to bat that far, far away as we chatted around her bedside. She described her illness as ‘such an inconvenience’ and jokingly told me to ‘keep the receipt’ for the slippers I bought her. She stayed her upbeat, practical self, despite the discomfort and pain, surrounded by beautiful flowers and everyone who loved her. <br />
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She passed away last week aged 56.<br />
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I opened my email today. ‘Olivia wants to be friends with you’ says the Facebook reminder.<br />
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I hope my aunt realised that I was always her friend.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aunty Olly<br />
1955 - 2012</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<br />Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-48115598522242821992012-05-21T18:01:00.000+01:002012-05-23T12:11:28.066+01:00Author Interview: Danny Miller<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Danny Miller's new novel, The Gilded Edge, is out now and I'm delighted to welcome him to my blog for a bit of a chat.<br />
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The Gilded Edge is the second book of a series featuring the rather gorgeous-sounding detective Vince Treadwell, set in 1960s London.<br />
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Danny's debut novel, Kiss Me Quick, was shortlisted for the CWA John Creasey (New Blood) Dagger in the Crime Thriller Awards 2011. When not writing novels, he's a playwright and a scriptwriter.<br />
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<b>Can you summarise new novel The Gilded Edge in a Tweet?</b><br />
No. Yes. Doh! A stylish and sexy thriller set in London in 1965: fast, furious, and fun.<br />
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<b>How would you describe detective Vince Treadwell?</b><br />
Someone described him as “A hero men would like to be, and women would like to be with.” He’s a handsome young guy who’s smart and knows how to use his fists. He’s a little impetuous, which could be put down to his age. But Vince being a little hot-headed invariably makes the story more exciting - he jumps into the action and never gives up. He also has a dangerous habit of getting romantically involved with women he shouldn’t - the femme fatales, always more deadly than the male villains. <br />
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<b>Both your debut novel (Kiss Me Quick) and The Gilded Edge are set in the 1960s. What attracts you to the decade?</b><br />
I love film noir. And I have a strong image in my head of black and white movies and men in sharp suits and women done up to the nines. And I think the 60s was probably the last time that happened, that real suited and booted dressing up thing. Knowing that you’re a fan of vintage, Jayne, I think you’ll understand. It was also an era I felt that really belonged to England; it’s very recognizable and full of iconography. Great music, great films, great clothes - we won the World Cup! It was an exciting time. It was a time of classic English villainy, with daring robberies and cops chasing them in classic MK 2 Jags. It was also the height of the cold-war with lots of spies and intrigue in the air. So in terms of a crime series there’s a lot of fun to be had with the 60s.<br />
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<b>How much research did you have to do for The Gilded Edge? </b><br />
Quite a bit for this book, because a strand of the story is based on ‘alleged’ real life events. And I used lots of real life characters, like Michael X, a black gangster based in Notting Hill who went on to front the British Black Power movement; Billy Hill, a famous and powerful gangster of the day; and members of the ‘Clermont Set’, a group of aristos who gathered around the gaming tables of the Clermont Club, that included John Aspinall, James Goldsmith and Lord Lucan amongst their ranks. I’ve changed some of the names, but I still had to do quite a bit of research to get their characters right, which I enjoyed.<br />
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<b>Did you always want to be an author?</b><br />
No. At the age of 18 if you’d have said I’d be sitting at a desk writing 120,000 words, it would have sounded like a prison sentence. I wanted to travel and see the world, not sit on my arse all day. But I was living in New York and taking acting classes – like you do when you’re a waiter – and started keeping a diary, and then started to write monologues and plays. When I got back to England I had some plays put on, then got into scriptwriting for TV. But all my favourite writers were novelists, and the novel was always the form I held in the highest esteem.<br />
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<b>Do you have a writing routine?</b><br />
In the morning I tend to plough on with the narrative, the fresh stuff, from about 10am to 1pm. Then I re-write in the afternoon. On a writing day, and I try to have five of them a week, it has to be 1000 words plus, and usually it works out to about 1500.<br />
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<b>As well as the computer, my desk is home to an empty mug, bottle of water, phone, notebook, and pen-lid (fate of pen unknown). What’s on your desk?</b><br />
A pen, with no lid…mmm.<br />
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<b>What are you currently working on?</b><br />
The third Vince Treadwell book, about halfway through, and outlining the fourth. And just finished a bumper outline/treatment for a novel independent of the series, that I’m about to start. Also got some TV stuff I’m working on.<br />
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<b>What advice can you give aspiring authors?</b><br />
For me personally, I really love the process of writing. The planning, the plotting, the getting the words on the page. It’s that simple. If I found it hard work and just did it because I thought there was going to be money at the end of it, I probably wouldn’t do it; because I’m lazy. Bone idle. I watched a great documentary about Charles Bukowski the other night, and in his slow and low and lyrically booze smeared voice, he said, and I’m paraphrasing slightly, that he found ‘Writing an easy and nice thing to do, and it remains an easy and nice thing to do, and that’s why I do it.’ That sounds about right to me. As for getting published, I’m not an agent or a publisher, I don’t know what they look for. But the bookshelves are full so read as much as you can.<br />
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<b style="color: #351c75;">Thank you, Danny! </b><br />
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<b>The Gilded Edge is out now.</b><br />
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London 1965, and Vince Treadwell investigates the seemingly unrelated murders of a playboy aristocrat from Belgravia and a young black nurse from the wrong side of town. It takes the detective to the illegal drinking dens of Notting Hill run by the self-styled Black Power leader, Michael X; the nightclubs of Soho owned by the legendary gangster, Billy Hill; and the exclusive gaming tables of the Montcler Club in Berkeley Square, where the blue bloods and power players of England gamble thousands on the turn of a card. But as Vince Treadwell digs deeper he finds himself not only embroiled with a beautiful society girl, Isabel Saxmore-Blaine, but a world of espionage and corruption where the underworld mixes easily with the aristocracy, and no one is innocent. <br />
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<b>Read more:</b> <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Gilded-Edge-Danny-Miller/dp/1849016917" target="_blank">The Gilded Edge at Amazon</a><br />
<b>Twitter:</b> <a href="https://twitter.com/#%21/DannyMillerKMQ" target="_blank">@DannyMillerKMQ</a><br />
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<br />Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3507901142971459084.post-33584679605225435012012-05-01T17:49:00.001+01:002012-05-01T17:50:30.323+01:00Impish ideasThe sound of silence is cloaking my blog at the moment. I picture it silver and dense; you can step into the billowing clouds and sweep away sections to reveal forgotten words and pictures, and then the fog rolls back in, obscuring and hiding all the features.<br />
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But it’s not a desolate landscape – silver shimmers with possibility and is the colour of slow moonlight on dark water, the slanted light of illumination piercing through a shadowed forest. Ideas crouch, giggling – they occasionally stick a foot out into the circle of hazy grey and admire their shiny buckled shoes, their elongated silhouettes. Mostly they play a frenzied game of tag and will stop every so often to tug my clothes and whisper in my ear. They think me a great, lumbering thing – such a human! – but clap their hands like proud parents when I correctly interpret one of their hushed communications. They also hand-on-hips scold when I get it wrong and disapproval makes me slink away for a while, but their wild games call to me from beyond the stream. I always turn my head and listen.<br />
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Can you hear them too?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Girl Beside A Stream, Arthur Rackham</td></tr>
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<br />Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11309191526500602452noreply@blogger.com20