I’ve missed a couple of my blog slots since returning from holiday in Derbyshire a few weeks ago. This has been mostly due to catching up with life in general and trying to haul myself back up into the writing saddle. The latter I am now glad to say I’ve achieved and things seem to be going relatively well. The good news is I’m currently 93,000 words and counting. It’s been a bit of a roller coaster as all my other books have been wit
I’m back after a week in one of the most beautiful parts of the UK. It’s been a relaxing few days with the opportunity to distance myself from everything going on at home. However as any of you who are writers know, writing is something you never quite separate yourself from no matter where you are. As human beings there’s always something going on in our heads, whether it’s what to cook for the next meal, deciding whether to buy that expensive pair of shoes we saw yesterday, what to watch on TV tonight or in my case, the situation with my current work in progress.
I have to confess I did try really hard to fight the whole thing; to tell myself the time for becoming a writer again was on the 18th when we returned home. However, I found it impossible. I was thinking about various issues with the book all the way there, all the way back, and in lots of bits in between. Before we came away, I closed down on that last evening with the end of the current chapter unfinished, basically because whatever I wrote simply didn’t sit right. Oh it seemed to work but seeming for me isn’t the end of the deal. I have to be sure I’m happy…really happy before I close off and move on to write the next chapter. Writing from home is great but it has to sit alongside everything else. The day has to be planned; meals prepared, domestic stuff done and of course I need time out to socialise. Therefore writing fits into the bigger plan, it has its place but alongside everything else going on in my life. So a week away with my other half to the exclusion of everyone else was a godsend, It allowed my mind a clear run on how everything in my writing world was progressing. Without any distraction I could sit back, analyse and put a few things down on the pad I’d brought with me. Although we had no wifi in the area except in a few of the local pubs, I also took the laptop along to use as a word processor as I don’t trust my scribble if left more than a day! The solution to the end of the chapter I had been working on came within the first few days of the holiday and I used my spare moments when not out and about to sit down and outline the scene. A second and necessary earlier scene for that chapter followed and both were typed up and inserted into the manuscript which I carried on a USB stick. Result!
Another thing that had been niggling me was the surname of one of the central characters. When I first chose it I felt it balanced well with his first name. However, I soon began to feel it simply didn’t sit right on the character I was visualising. On occasions I’m stuck like this a car journey can turn out to be priceless and street name signs invaluable. I had to wait until Wednesday as we were going through one particular town for luck to strike. I saw the sign, knew that was what I’d been waiting for and that was it! One more thing which could be crossed off the ‘To Do’ list.
Wouldn’t it be marvellous to plan a book and simply write it? In some ways I guess I envy those who have that journey with everything set from that first initial step into Chapter One to THE END. Or do I? No actually I don’t. The excitement for me in writing is the unknown; in that spark of new ideas as you reach a particular scene and decide how you will play it – from whose perspective and where the action takes place. What I also tend to do while working on a book is change hats. Being an avid reader as well as a writer, I like to step back and look at what I’m doing from the reader’s viewpoint. Is the story plausible? Is the dialogue right? Are the characters physically working the scene correctly. It may be simple things but collectively they are so important. I’ve read many books where I’ve thought ‘No, he wouldn’t do that.’ or ‘hang on, this character has just taken off his coat – twice.’ Of course these errors should be picked up when the manuscript is edited (or not, in the case of the character taking off his coat not once but twice in the same scene!), for me it’s simply part of my personal writing process.
The jury is still out on whether this WIP is going to make one or two books. The time span for the novel is in two distinct years – 2007 and present day which lends itself quite neatly to a split should I choose to go down that road. The way the first part is shaping – now sitting at just over 81,000 words I would say yes we are probably looking at two books. If not then I’ve got another large book on my hands which I need to avoid if I want a sensibly priced paperback version. I do like to keep a hard copy of the book and there are some friends who still avoid Kindle, although Amazon sales are almost 100% electronic downloads. This will mean another book cover of course. I have already sorted the one for Summer Moved On. I find creating the cover is almost as exciting as writing, I absolutely love getting involved. My designer Jane Dixon Smith is amazing – and she’s also an author in her own right.
I’ve some research to do as well into running a stud as horse breeding figures in the second part of the book. Basic background knowledge regarding stud farms is something I can probably pick up locally as we’ve several in the area but that’s for later in the year and on the back burner at the moment.
So that’s it. Not giving anything away about plot or characters only to say I’m pleased with the cast and the story. Now to get back to the most important thing of all – the writing!
Have a good week – back next weekend!
Jo x
The game kicked off on June 5th with the release of ‘Striker’, and now that game carries on with the release of ‘Extra Time’, the second book in Michelle Betham’s seductively wicked bonkbuster trilogy.
Life’s moved on for professional soccer player Ryan Fisher, sports reporter Amber Sullivan and Jim Allen, the manager of Ryan’s club Newcastle Red Star. But the repercussions of just a few months ago still hang heavy. Who’s trying their best to play by the rules? And who’s still willing to break them…?
Delving into the lives of those who live and work within the so-called Beautiful Game, ‘Extra Time’ is a story of sex, secrets and the true cost of fame.
Footballers’ Wives meets Jackie Collins in this sizzling scorcher of a read!
‘Extra Time’ – the game continues…
MICHELLE SAYS:
I’ve been making up stories for as long as I can remember, so it stood to reason that, at some point, I’d start writing some of them down. I currently have ten novels in total to my name, ranging from the sweet to the really quite steamy – which is my favourite kind of romance!
When I’m not creating hot heroes and sexy scenarios I like to read everything from erotica to horror. I’m also a bit of a TV addict with a penchant for “binge-watching”, I love football, darts and rock music, have a slight obsession with Timothy Olyphant, and I’m also an unashamed ‘Breaking Bad’ geek!
Contact Links:
Blog – http://michellebethamwriter.blogspot.co.uk/
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/michellebetham.author
Facebook Author Page – https://www.facebook.com/AuthorMichelleBetham
Twitter – @michellebetham
‘Extra Time’ – Book #2 in the Striker Series – is available to download now from the following buy links:-
Amazon UK | Amazon.com | Kobo | Barnes & Noble | Sainsbury’s | Google Play
‘Striker’ – book #1 in the series – is also available to download, and ‘Final Score’ – the third and final book in the trilogy – is due for release in August.
Paperback versions of all books in the series will be available later in the year.
This is the second book in the Greek Island Mystery series. Although each book is intended to be read as a standalone, some of the characters from the first book, ‘Jennas’s Journey’, do make an appearance. Kat has never understood why she was sent at the age of seven from Greece to live in England with her Aunt Tigi. When she receives an email from her grandmother, the first contact in over twenty years, informing her of her mother’s death, she knows this could be her last chance to find out the truth. Little by little she finds out the shocking facts as her grandmother opens her heart. It seems everyone has a secret to tell, not only her grandmother, as Manoli, her school friend, also harbours a guilty secret. Then there’s a twenty year old mystery to solve as well as a murder and what happened to the missing Church treasure?
MY REVIEW Written in four separate parts first we are introduced to Kat, who is returning to the island of her birth with young daughter Izzy. Her mother’s recent death is the reason for her return; a woman she was taken from when she was just seven years old after her father died. Raised by her Aunt Tiggy in London her mother’s death has now brought many questions she seeks answers for. Answers she hopes her grandmother will have. Kat has also welcomed this break from the UK, away from her troubled relationship with husband Robert. She is reunited with childhood friend Manoli, married to an English girl with a family of his own and still haunted by a traumatic childhood memory. While back at home Kat’s husband Robert has problems of his own as Keisha his daughter from his first marriage turns up on his doorstep with unexpected news. In the second part of the book we go back in time to Grandmother Sophia’s story and the reader is able to start to piece together this mystery and find the answer to some of Kat’s questions. The story then returns to present day. In parts three and four, past and present are carefully woven together to eventually present all the answers – and some surprises! A great plot with a wonderful cast of characters. Life on a Greek island is colourfully described with just enough detail to run comfortably alongside the main story. Although the second part of a trilogy, this can be read as a stand-alone book. And I have to say, the appearance of some of the characters from Jenna’s Journey was tempting enough to make me want to download a copy and read it. A very well deserved four stars from an author I hope to be reading more of… Thank you to JB Johnson for forwarding me a free copy in exchange for an honest review.
NOW READ AN EXCERPT FROM SOPHIA’S SECRET: The boy knew he shouldn’t be out so late on his own but a dare was a dare! His best friend, Vasilli, had dared him to meet up at midnight in their den in the woods. He’d been so excited he could barely sleep. His mother had come to tuck him in—not that a boy of nearly eight needed tucking in he’d reminded her as they went through the usual nightly ritual. “Night night.” “Sleep tight, mind the bugs don’t bite.” Then when she’d gone, he forced himself to stay awake until he heard his parents come back up the stairs to their room. He waited for the light to go out and gave it a few more minutes to be on the safe side. The luminous watch that he’d asked for on last birthday was showing nearly 11.30. There would be plenty of time to get there. He peered out of his bedroom window. It was dark out. There were no streetlights in his village. It was lucky that he’d remembered to pack a torch. He crept silently down the stairs, careful not to wake either his parents or the sleeping twins, put a jacket on over his pyjamas, slipped his trainers on and spying the fruit bowl on the table, put a couple of apples in his pocket in case he got hungry. The gang had built the den during the long summer holidays when they were allowed to play out until late provided that they told an adult where they were. This was different. The summer had given way to autumn and there was a chill in the night air. He wrapped his arms round himself for extra warmth or maybe just to give himself courage. He thought fleetingly of turning back but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand Vasilli’s taunts of ‘chicken’ the next day. All he had to do, he reminded himself, was cut through the woods at the back of his house and meet his friend in the den. Just then, as if giving him a signal, the moon came out from behind the clouds illuminating the woodland path. He set off at a run, not wanting to be late. Once he reached the safety of the den, they’d have a good laugh about what a great game it had been. An owl hooted in the branches above him almost scaring him silly. It felt so different at night. Every sound was magnified a thousand times, making him alert to every eerie sound. Little creatures scurrying around made the leaves underfoot rustle. Twice now he’d thought he heard someone following him but when he stopped there was no one. Only a few more metres to go and he’d be safe. Not wanting to cut through the churchyard, he kept to the wall until he reached the woods. The moonlight showed him the den, just as he’d left it. He rushed inside, breathing heavily, surprised to see that Vasilli hadn’t arrived yet. He glanced at his watch. It was only 11.54. He decided to wait no more than ten minutes and then he was going home. His father would give him a right talking to if he got caught. He’d probably be grounded for weeks. It never crossed his mind that his friend wasn’t coming. He settled himself into the snugness of the den to wait. At least it was warmer in here, out of the wind. He woke up suddenly, surprised that he’d fallen asleep. There were footsteps just outside the den: Vasilli must have been held up. He was about to shout to him but thought he’d surprise him instead by shouting ‘boo’ as he crawled through the entrance. The footsteps stopped and he heard a scraping noise. He peered into the darkness but couldn’t make out what his friend was doing. Then the moonlight clearly showed him that whoever it was, he was far too tall for his friend. It was a man with a spade. He could hear the soft earth plop onto the ground as he dug a hole. Suddenly the den smelt of fresh earth and vegetation. He hoped the man wasn’t going to be long. He was in enough trouble already. The moon disappeared and it was dark again, totally silent now except for the sound of the spade on the damp earth. He’d wanted an adventure but suddenly an adventure on your own wasn’t nearly so much fun. He wondered what the man was doing. Maybe he was burying treasure. They could come back tomorrow and dig it up. That would be fun. He knew though that he shouldn’t be here and was afraid. What if the man caught him and told his parents? His heart was thumping so loudly he was sure the man could hear him but the spade just continued to thwack as the soil was lifted. It seemed like hours but his watch showed it was 1.10am. When the moon came out again he saw the man lift something big and heavy into the hole and start to cover it up. Now he knew he had to remain totally silent or else he’d end up in the hole too no doubt! He had a horrible thought that perhaps instead of treasure, the man was burying a body. At any rate it certainly didn’t look like treasure. Why was he out here in the woods at this time? He couldn’t be up to any good? Just then the man trampled down the earth so that it wouldn’t leave a trace just as the moon slid out from the shadows. The boy realized with a jolt that he knew the man. Fear trickled through his body, just as he lost control and wet himself. Hot urine trickled down his leg, turning cold seconds later. He didn’t consider the trouble he’d be in for wetting his pajamas, right now he just wanted to be anywhere else but in the middle of the woods with a murderer for company. He was tired, cold and wet. He watched the man leave and when he was sure it was safe, he ran all the way home. He was relieved that his parents hadn’t missed him. He half expected all the lights to be on and his father standing in the middle of the living room asking him where the hell he’d been. Instead there was a gentle snoring noise coming from the bedroom. Luckily the twins hadn’t woken his parents up while he’d been out. He quickly changed into clean pjs. He’d admit to wetting himself in the morning but that was all. He crept into bed and fell asleep straight away but somehow his mother’s words kept playing on his mind over and over again. ‘Mind the bugs don’t bite.’ He dreamt of bugs covering him but instead of a bug’s face, he saw the man in the woods. He was to dream the same dream time and time again. PART ONE Chapter 1 They say you should never go back to a place where you were once happy, not unless you are prepared to be disappointed. As she surveyed the all too familiar island from the deck, Kat wished she’d heeded that advice. The beautiful cove where they’d played as children was now home to a luxury hotel—the azure blue waters of the infinity pool glinting in the sun. ‘Why on earth had she come back?’ she asked herself. She knew that it would only lead to more heartbreak, yet after all this time she had finally been unable to resist the pull of her homeland. “Is that it?” Asked an excited voice next to her. “Yes darling, that’s where mama grew up. If you look carefully, you can just make out the house where I used to live when I was your age. It’s at the top of the hill. Can you see it yet? The little house painted yellow. It’s called ‘To spiti lemoni.’” “I see it, I see it,” replied Izzy jumping up and down. Looking at her daughter’s face flushed with youthful exuberance, Kat felt a tug of nostalgia for that innocent time. She put her arms round her daughter and hugged her close, wanting to protect her from anything that might harm her. “When’s daddy coming?” Izzy asked out of the blue. “You know he has to work, sweetie. This is going to be our little adventure, okay?” “But I’m going to miss him sooooo much.” Luckily before Kat could think of anything else to say, they were caught up in the swell of passengers disembarking. Pushing their way past dithering tourists trying to get their bearings, they set off up the hill towards the lemon house. Luckily they hadn’t brought much luggage, just a bag with a couple of changes of clothes each, swimming things, underwear and a few toiletries. Anything else that they needed she figured they could buy on the island. They wouldn’t need much as she didn’t intend to stay for long. She’d planned on being away for a week, two at the most depending on how long the formalities were going to take. Izzy had her own backpack with her DS in it. She’d virtually refused to come away without it and Kat could empathize with that because she felt the same about her Kindle, which went everywhere with her. She knew she gave into her daughter far too much but she could honestly say she wasn’t a spoilt brat like some of the other kids in her class and that was down to her. She could hardly give Robert any credit for his daughter’s upbringing, as he was never there. The email had pinged into her ‘in’ box just as she and Robert hit a really bad patch. They’d been arguing more and more recently. She knew he worked hard but he didn’t appreciate that she worked too as well as looking after their daughter and the house. It seemed that lately more and more was left to her and when they did speak it was just to complain about each other. She was fed up with his long hours and lack of family time; he complained that she was never satisfied. Then the email from Greece had arrived informing her of her mother’s death. For the rest of the day, she’d put it to the back of her mind. After all, she hadn’t seen her in years so she could hardly play the grief-stricken daughter. Then that evening over dinner she’d mentioned it to Rob and his sense of duty had insisted that she go and pay her respects. Of course, his work responsibilities didn’t extend to him accompanying her and with nobody to look after Izzy she’d almost turned it into a holiday, pushing the real reason why she was here to the back of her mind. The sun was blazing and already she could feel a trickle of sweat run down her neck into the crevices of her shoulders. They stopped at the periptero, which had expanded from the tiny kiosk that she remembered into what looked almost like a shop with awnings and freezers taking up most of the outside space. She had to face up to the villagers at some point she reasoned and this seemed as good a place as any. Achilles had barely changed at all. As a child she’d thought he was old but back then he couldn’t have been more than forty-five. Now, he must be nearly seventy but she recognized the weather beaten features and the kind eyes. Steeling herself, she spoke to him in Greek remembered from years past. “Two ice-creams please.” Achilles looked up from the newspaper he was reading, “You’re back then? We weren’t sure if you’d come or not.” He said. For a second she wondered how he could possibly recognize her after all this time. Then she looked down at her daughter who was the spitting image of her at the same age. She knew that whatever she said would be all round the village in a matter of minutes. Achilles would take great pleasure in passing the news on to all his customers and soon everyone would know that Pelagia’s daughter was back for the funeral. There was a pause as neither knew what else to say until finally, remembering the circumstances under which she’d returned, Achilles waved away her offer of a ten euro note and said the ice-creams were on the house. Before he could ask any more questions they moved up the hill and sat on a low-whitewashed wall to eat their ice creams. Looking around her, Kat thought that this part of the village had changed very little. She still recognized most of the houses although some had evidently been sold and tarted up as holiday homes. Where the roofs had once held spare water tanks in case of drought and solar panels for the hot water, now they were proper roof terraces with sun loungers and patio furniture catering to the needs of tourists. The traditional donkeys that she remembered from her childhood had long gone, as the islanders’ wealth had improved. Now you had to be wary of young men riding mopeds and scooters instead. It felt strange to be in a place that was so familiar, yet to always be the outsider. It was strange too how she never quite felt English in England yet she’d been away so long she no longer felt Greek either. Even her name was neither one thing nor the other. She’d changed it from her birth name of Ekaterina to Kat when she’d realized that nobody in her class could pronounce such a mouthful. It wasn’t quite English either as she hadn’t liked to be called Katie. Perhaps she really should have trusted her instincts though and stayed at home. She’d only come because Robert insisted. It was almost as if he had an ulterior motive. She pushed that thought to the back of her mind too. Now she really was becoming paranoid. Maybe that’s what returning to the island did to you? Soon they reached the top of the hill and the lemon house, pausing only to take in the tremendous view that she recalled so vividly. On a clear day you could see all the way across to the mainland. It was a view that no camera could quite capture. Its exquisite beauty refused to be pinned down. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be back, after all? Out of a childhood habit she automatically felt under the terracotta pot where her mother had always hidden the door key. Nothing! She couldn’t believe she’d come all this way to be refused entry to her own childhood home. Her emotions were running high but she knew she couldn’t let the tears fall, especially not in front of Izzy. She thought that if she started crying, she would probably never stop. Then the door opened and her grandmother said. “I heard you were back. You’d better come in.” Achilles’ early warning system had worked faster than even she could have anticipated. “I got a text from Achilles in case you were wondering.” Kat marvelled inwardly at how well her grandmother could read her mind but then that was something she’d always been good at. Somehow though she hadn’t associated mobile phones with her grandmother and wondered if she was being unreasonably ageist or if it was because the way she remembered the island was before the advance of technology AUTHOR BIO 
Julie was born and brought up in a mining village near Barnsley in South Yorkshire. She graduated with a BA (hons) in French Language and Literature from Hull University. Since then she has lived and worked as a Teacher of English as a Foreign Language in France, Greece, Poland and Thailand. She now lives in rural Gloucestershire with her husband, son and a dippy cat with half a tail. She is so passionate about books that her collection is now threatening to outgrow her house, much to her husband’s annoyance! She is the author of two novels set in Greece, “Jenna’s Journey” and “Sophia’s Secret” both part of the Greek Island Mystery series. She is currently working on a third book, ‘Pandora’s Prophecy.”
LINKS Facebook – http://www.facebook.com/Julieryanauthor Twitter @julieryan18 Blog www.allthingsbookie.com
BOOK LINKS
Jenna’s Journey – http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00EXDPZD2 http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00EXDPZD2
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00LFGCWA
http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/cc6f94118/
This is my last post before I disappear on holiday. This time we’re heading north-east to Derbyshire and the Peak District. I’ve only ever driven through here on my way to somewhere else, but can remember it’s very beautiful so there’ll be a lot of photo opportunities. We’ve a rented cottage in the village of Over Hadden which is just outside the town of Bakewell. The good news is that the cottage is equipped with every modern convenience; the bad is there’s no wifi. However, I will have my phone so I won’t be totally out of touch. I do, however, have issues with typing on a microscopic keyboard. I have very small hands and that means small fingers but I still fail to cope with a simple message without backspacing and cursing. I’m totally amazed as I watch people beating out a message with their fingers in overdrive, making it look so easy.
One of the nicest aspects of holidays is the opportunity to take photographs but I don’t just restricted this to times when I’m away. Whenever I go out for walks locally my camera comes too. I have always loved photography, the only trouble is very often my visual expectations far exceed the capabilities of the camera. This means what I’m seeing is not what I get when I take the shot – oh and I guess I ought to throw the limitations of the photographer into the mix too – with the best will in the world I’m no David Bailey! Too optimistic I think is the word we’re looking for. However that does not take away the love of seeing things and wanting to capture them on film (or memory card as it is now). A lot of my good shots I have to say are luck rather than judgement. My friend Jane Risdon is the lady with the camera. She has posted some wonderful shots and I bow to her expertise!
One really funny memory wrapped around photography was when we went on holiday in Spain back in the eighties. The husband of the couple we went with was a total
photography geek – it was a major hobby and he had his own dark room. This was the first time we had been on holiday with them and although we knew about his passion for photography we had no idea what what lay ahead. Every time we left the villa it felt like an expedition – the stuff he insisted carrying with him was amazing, including, of course, a telescopic tripod – he almost needed his own private Sherpa! We went up into the hills one day to a place called Guadalest. There were fabulous views right back down to the coast and he took ages changing the lens and getting this damned tripod set up to capture each shot while all we wanted to do was to find a bar and a cold beer! These were the days before digital cameras were generally available so all his shots were taken on film. A few days after our return home his girlfriend rang to tell us that when he went to take the film out it had broken off inside the camera. In his dark room when he took the back off he discovered there was no film – he had forgotten to put one in! Total geek then! All that effort, all that fussy preciseness in setting up shots of views had been a complete waste of time! Not sure whether he learned any lessons from what happened as a job move saw them leaving the area later that year and we never went away with them again. Having said that I’m convinced had they stayed we would not have put ourselves through a holiday with a photographer with OCD for a second time! Once was quite enough!
Of all the couples we know it seems I’m the only female who likes taking photos. Not only do I find it a good pictorial reminder of where I’ve been, I’m one of those people who find things beyond beach and cityscapes and want to capture them if only to show other people – much easier than trying to describe what
I’ve seen. Like the denim horse in Bruges last October when we were enjoying a city break there. It was in the entrance to a number of clothes boutiques and was too good to resist. Then there was another the year we went to Corfu with friends. We arrived at the villa and unloaded the luggage. The men carried it upstairs and we opened the doors to the bedrooms trying to decide who was having which room. I went into one of them pulled open the shutters, walked out onto the balcony and was totally blown away by the view. I knew if I left it I would never be able to capture that shot again so grabbed my camera.
My local ventures into photography have come about because even after years of living here I am totally mesmerised by this area on the eastern side of Bath where I live. Bath is all hills, built in an extinct volcano, you cannot enter or exit the city without negotiating some sort of gradient. On our side of the city we have Solsbury Hill, made famous by Peter Gabriel’s song of the same name. It looks across to Bathampton Downs to the south of Bath. The River Avon, main rail line to London, theKennet and Avon Canal and the A4 trunk road all run from east to west along the valley floor between these two hills. The place where I live is slightly east of this and gives us amazing views both across and down this valley. Tucked against a hill with a large sprawl of wood above it, it became the inspiration for Meridan Cross, the fictional West Somerset village which features in my books. I never tire of watching the cycle of the year and the ever-changing colours of the trees. I had always imagined that leaves were all the same shade of green. Not so, there’s an amazing variety as I have come to learn. When it rains there is always low cloud which threads its way eerily through the wood and if we should by any chance get snow it looks as if someone has taken a huge icing sugar shaker and dusted the trees – absolutely magic! Next week the Peak District’s dramatic landscape will no doubt be offering more good photo opportunities. I can’t wait!
Take care and I’ll be back blogging on 20th July. In the meantime there’s a slideshow below of some of my favourite shots – enjoy!
Jo x
As I don’t use my blog as an electronic diary of events in my life, I have to come up with different topics each week to write about. Inspiration can sometimes be incredibly slow, either that or suitable subjects suddenly become not so suitable. This weekend was one of those occasions. Something I’d thought would make a good subject completely dried up on me, leaving me totally adrift. It was only in the early hours of this morning when I woke up that I decided to wander back to the subject of holidays.
I think some of the most memorable holidays aren’t the ones where you jet off and lie peacefully in the sun for a fortnight. They are the ones where strange, quirky things happen. Like going on a sherry tour in Herez, Spain when one of the group got shut in the tasting room and left behind. He was a little South American guy who was visiting Spanish relatives. We’d finished tasting the various types of sherry and the guide had ushered us all out and locked the door. We were making our way down the corridor when his friends realised he was missing. Returning to the tasting room, there he was, perched on a stool downing yet another glass of sherry, obviously making the most of his captivity! Here are a few more memorable incidents:
Beggar’s Banquet
We were in Spain on holiday one year sitting outside a restaurant in Malaga having lunch. Along comes this guy on crutches and stops at each table begging for food. I couldn’t believe it when he reached our table and leaning on his crutches indicated he would be grateful if we offered him some of the food we had there. We indicated no very politely and he moved on. Moments later I happened to look up and saw someone on one of the other tables handing him several Euro notes from his wallet. Thanking him the guy hobbled away. Reaching the end of the building he stopped, tucked his crutches under his arm and ran off!
Arachnophobia in France
In 2005 we rented a farmhouse in the Dordogne. It was miles from anywhere with no near neighbours – so relaxing and peaceful. The British couple who were renovating it retreated to a caravan in a small wood which bordered the property whenever they had paying guests but were always on hand if needed. In the kitchen to the left of the sink was a very small blue enamel bucket. On the first morning I took a look inside – and
wished I hadn’t. There nestling in the bottom was one of the largest spiders I had ever seen. Our friends were still in the process of getting up so I got my husband to eject the thing, knowing like me, our friend’s wife Jan absolutely hated spiders. At home although I don’t like them – too many legs and a nasty habit of homing in on you as if they can sense your fear – I can generally deal with a spider situation. No way was I getting involved with this large black thing though. So my husband launched it into the nearest flower bed and that was that. Only it wasn’t. The next morning it was back and the morning after that. It became known as the Homing Spider and in the end in desperation we took to leaving the bucket outside the back door and that seemed to work – it was happy there.
How Much?
During the week we visited the local market in Le Buge, our nearest town. An amazing experience not only for the food but other things, like an old mobile horse-box converted to carry all these amazing grandfather clocks! Us girls sent the men off to get some cheese. Not a difficult task you would think. Meeting up later when we asked about the cheese there were guilty glances before they produced a very large thin segment which had obviously been cut from a truckle. ‘That’s enough to last the whole week.’ I observed looking at it. ‘We did sample before we bought. It’s very tasty.’ came the enthusiastic reply, not that it had anything to do with my comment. The embarrassed glances continued. ‘How much did it cost?’ Jan asked curiously. ‘Oh, you know…’ Two voices blended mumbling different amounts. ‘How much?’I asked as we both stared at our men. ‘Only Thirteen Euros.’ My husband decided to come clean, brushing off the extortionate price with a smile as if he’d got a bargain. I opened my mouth and got as far as ‘Only…’ ‘But it really great cheese.’ My husband enthusiasm drowned me out, solidly backed by Jan’s husband’s agreeing nod. ‘You’ll love it.’ He said. End of argument as far as they were concerned and the expressions on their faces dared us to say otherwise. Jan and I looked at each other, shook our heads and walked away. Now if we girls had paid such an extravagant price for cheese we would have never heard the last of it but as I’ve learned over the years men have a habit of setting their own rules don’t they?
Spanish Dancing and The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Afternoon
During the same holiday as our sherry tasting in Herez we also spent a few days in Seville. We booked into a hotel in the north of the city within ten minutes walk of the centre. On our first morning we took off after breakfast for sightseeing. Arriving at the Plaza d’Espana we stopped to watch a small group of young women wearing colourful flamenco costumes and dancing on a raised platform. The music was coming from a tape on a large portable radio set in one corner of the platform. A crowd had gathered to listen and everyone was joining in, clapping. The music is very passionate and energetic accompanied by feet stamping and a lot of that was going on. It took me a moment to realise the stamping sound was coming from the tape because unbelievably all these girls were wearing trainers under their costumes!
Moving on we spent the morning taking in the sights and stopped for lunch before beginning our trek back to the hotel. And then we found a friend. I don’t know where this dog, an Alsatian cross, came from but no matter what discouragement was given it simply would not go away. My husband and our friends decided to stop hoping it would get bored and wander off. Me, on the other hand, who can only really deal with small dogs, kept walking. The dog trotted pass the other three and started closing in on me. Up close it seemed friendly and quite harmless. Of course, my new best friend caused a lot of amusement and in the end we gave up and just continued with our journey. On 
reaching the hotel the dog followed us in and settled itself quite comfortably on the marble floor of the reception area. I thought someone might have shooed it out but no one did, in fact the staff found it a bowl of water making me wonder whether this dog had latched onto unsuspecting tourists before. When we came down again later it had gone. My overactive writer’s imagination left me wondering whether I had just missed out getting myself my own personal Game of Thrones Direwolf.
I’m Bulgaria Air – Fly Me
And finally, last year an absolutely priceless moment. We had booked a week in Lake Garda, Italy for September. Two months after the booking Tui, the holiday company, transferred the flight to an Italian airline. We didn’t have a problem with that but we did with the change in flight departure times. Outward was at midday, the same as our original Thomson flight but our new return journey meant we had to leave the hotel at 6am in the morning to get to Verona Airport. On departure day we arrived at Bristol Airport and checked in our luggage. Eventually we were called to the gate for boarding. Everyone got on the bus and it pulled away, taking us off to the western edge of the airport. It drove past this plane and everyone was commenting about it. How old it was and ‘laughs’ who was going to be flying out on that then? Actually it turned out we were! Apparently our scheduled plane had to be pulled in for a service and the Bulgarian plane was called in to cover. The shocked and in some cases horrified expressions on faces as the bus pulled up to the bottom of the plane steps was, as I said above, priceless. Some people even thought it was a hoax. I have to say despite it being an older jet we had a smooth flight and the cabin crew, although having limited English, did a great job of looking after us.
So that’s it for now. I’ll be back next Sunday. In the meantime have a good week everyone!
It’s been a great week away. The weather was obviously the icing on the cake, bearing in mind UK
summers are notoriously fickle. Sometimes holidays simply feel they are going to be good right from the start and this was definitely one of them. I know I do tend to bang on a lot about South Hams which is where Dartmouth, Kingsbridge, Totnes and Salcombe are situated. Having said that it is
a wonderful place to be, especially if the sun is out. Years ago we actually kept a boat on the south coast of the UK and spent most weekends there, so water and boats have always been a magical combination for me. Now, it’s all just a warm memory with a collection of photos to back those cerebral imprints up. When I got home and began to download I was amazed that I’d taken 180 photos. Digital cameras have turned holiday photography completely on its head. No more dropping off a film with your local processor then having your bubble burst when you get them back and the results show you weren’t quite the David Bailey you thought you were. No, now it’s great. You can weed out the disasters, download onto the computer and even print your own photos if you want to. A complete revolution.
Moving on, I had a lot of time over the last week to think about a main topic for today. In the end I decided it would be interesting to talk about fictional names. A new writing project involves many component parts – the story, the setting and, of course, the players. Not only do these individuals need to have a bio so we are familiar with their personalities and backgrounds, they also require names. So what triggers the decision on what to call your characters? It’s not something I have ever discussed with fellow writers, but I guess like everything else to do with the writing process, it’s all down to personal choice. As for me, my first rule is to avoid names I do not personally like. I also try and avoid using the first names of people I actually know. That’s probably because if I did I would be visualising that person instead of the character as I wrote, which would be both distracting and a little surreal! It’s also important for me to use a name which sits well with each character and feels authentic. I have to say 99% of my choices work first time around but I do tend to keep an open mind because there might be an odd occasion when as soon as I start writing the character/name combination doesn’t feel right and will need to be changed.
In the Little Court series which was spread over five books, there were a huge array of names (a cast of thousands one of my friends once amusingly remarked) so attention to detail when drawing up a character list for each new book was very important to avoid any embarrassing duplication. As you can imagine, the farther I got into the series the bigger the headache became in finding suitable names! This was because not only did we have the central families who had expanded over the thirty year span of the books, there were also secondary characters both in the village and the two provincial towns which were the settings for the stories. A Herculean task and one I’m not sure I want to repeat!
I have made a decision that my saga series days are now definitely behind me. There was a certain easiness in writing about people you already knew in settings that were familiar, but that was then and this is now. Time for a change and a new challenge. My current WIP, Summer Moved On, has a smaller cast and I’ve actually managed to find not only names I’ve not used before but ones which I think really do match their characters. The most unusual is Talún which is Gaelic but then there does have to be something special about that central character you hope all your female readers will fall in love with doesn’t there?
Enjoy your week, back next Sunday.
Jo
This is my last post before I pack for holiday. The thought of going away for a whole week is a great feeling. In fact I have to admit I do love holidays. OK I know what you’re all thinking. I quit my job last year; I’m a self-employed writer so I’m my own boss. That means I’m no longer tied into a nine to five. If I don’t feel like working on a particular day I don’t have to and I can organise a lunch meet or a day shopping with friends any time I want. In a nutshell I’m director of my own destiny. So that must mean my life is almost like a permanent holiday right? Well, yes in a way I guess that is true. However, with this new life comes a level of responsibility. I do have a time plan but it’s not as fixed as when I was working for someone else. I do still have to work though. Therefore what I term ‘proper’ holidays are still very special to me. It’s the ability to get away from all that the normal stuff and go somewhere completely different to chill out, relax and take in some new experiences.
Since I’ve been a published writer I’ve drawn on some of my travel destinations for settings. I’ve found it’s much easier to write about somewhere I have actually visited as I can call up the sights and scenes I’ve experienced and make everything feel much more authentic. Dartmouth, where we’re headed this coming Friday was featured in The Other Side of Morning and I’ve also used Italy in three of my five books. The Ligurian Coast featured in Love Lies and Promises. Venice in Between Today and Yesterday and for The Other Side of Morning Lake Garda.
We holidayed in Garda last September, returning to the Regina Adelaide where we’d had a wonderful vacation in 2001. Because we loved the lake and all the towns there so much we had decided it was time for a return trip. Booking into the same hotel again there was a moment when we wondered whether we might be making a mistake. Our twelve-year absence meant both the hotel and resort were now a bit of an unknown quantity. There was the worry that so much might have changed and not for the better. What crazy people we were worrying! We found Garda exactly the same; friendly people, beautiful flowers everywhere and that laid back continental atmosphere each evening in its bars with their live music. Trips to Riva, Sirmione and Salo didn’t disappoint either. And as for the hotel, well there was the same warm welcome and excellent service. And there was an added bonus because not only did we have a fantastic holiday, I also sorted out a seemingly impossible problem I had been having with my current WIP.
I had been struggling to start the final chapter of The Other Side of Morning but the more attempts I made the more it refused to come right. At the very beginning of the chapter I had to bring Marco and two of the key characters together. I had a few ideas about where they would meet but every time I attempted to write something, I wasn’t happy with it and I ended up deleting everything. Had I been using paper I’m sure the office floor would have been overflowing with my failed attempts! With the holiday imminent and rapidly running out of patience, I decided to shelve the whole thing, contenting myself with the fact that I would be a lot fresher to do battle with it when I got back.
Our first morning in Garda saw us walking to neighbouring Bardolino. After a wander around and some shopping we stopped for a glass of wine outside one of the hotels. It was a beautiful morning and the four of us sat under a large canvas sun shade watching people passing by and the ferries coming and going. All of a sudden it hit me that this could be the place to begin that last chapter with Marco sitting here drinking wine just like us. The scene started to come together in my head and I managed to hold it there until we returned to the hotel. I quickly scribbled down my thoughts and on my return home began to write – and everything fell into place perfectly!
During the 1990s we spent a lot of time in Spain. Our friends owned an apartment just outside Marbella and we had some really good holidays there. Some years we would use it as a base and travel inland for stopovers in places like Granada, Seville and Herez. The apartment was sold in 1998 which coincided with a milestone birthday for all four of us. To celebrate we decided on a Spanish road trip. We booked a flight to Madrid, hired an MPV and arranged three two-night stopovers in Toledo, Caceres and Cordoba. This would take up one week of a planned fortnight and then we would drive down to the coast where, for the final week, we had rented a friend’s house. It was an amazing holiday. First Toledo with its narrow streets, swords and suits of armour – a place where El Cid was reputed to have captained the garrison. Then on to medieval Caceres with its nesting storks who flew about at night reminding me of feathered pterodactyls. And finally Cordoba and the fabulous Mesquita and Palace of the Christian Kings. All three place left special memories, whether it was joining in with the fiesta which was going on in Toledo when we arrived, watching the eerie flight of the storks at night as they circled over Caceres or embracing Flamenco in Cordoba. This was the real Spain and absolute magic!
We last holidayed on the Costa Del Sol in 2003. A joint wedding anniversary trip with friends. We rented a villa just west of Calahonda, minutes from the beach. We had a great time, toasted our skin, ate and drank far too much and made our usual pilgrimage up into the hills above Marbella to Benahavis – the place for great Spanish food and hospitality. There was a boutique hotel there – the Amanhavis – each of its nine rooms themed to celebrate either a period of the country’s history or a famous Spaniard. The Galileo room had a large telescope and a glass ceiling so you could lie in bed and look at the stars! Checking on-line today the hotel is still there and receiving good reviews – an average of 8.5 out of 10. So if anyone wants an off the beaten track stay at a hotel with a difference then that’s the place to go.
It’s always a little sad when a holiday comes to an end; you’ve had a good time but now it’s time to leave and return to the real world. That Sunday morning we vacated the villa early and on our way to the airport stopped off in Cabopino. If any of you remember the ill-fated British soap Eldorado, Cabopino was used for the marina scenes in the series. We had coffee there and then wandered out onto the breakwater where several elderly Spanish men were fishing. I remember looking back in land and all I could see were cranes and building work going on. I remembered 1991 when we first made this coast a holiday destination. It made me realise not only how fast the urbanisation had spread over those twelve years, but given the extent of the current activity, how much more there was to come. I realised then that maybe our time here was coming to an end. Far better to move on and hold onto those memories of what a good place it had once been before the building tsunami had taken hold. As we all climbed back into the hire car it appeared that everyone had been thinking the same thing. It was time to look for new places to spend our summers.
Since then we’ve been all over Europe, Greece and Italy being the favourites. We did actually return to Spain in 2010 to a place called Tamariu just up the coast from Barcelona. It’s a small quiet coastal village, favoured by Spanish holidaymakers – in fact while we were there we hardly heard a British accent. It was early July and we arrived during the time the last matches were being played in the World Cup; evenings when the bars were full with enthusiastic locals watching on wide-screen televisions. We were eating out in a beach restaurant the night Spain won. The atmosphere was electric and the partying went on well into the early hours.
So now I’m back in the present quietly sorting out what to pack and crossing fingers for some decent weather. Nothing, of course, is guaranteed in the UK. We might hit a heat wave or we could well spend the week trudging around in wet weather gear, who knows? See you all in a fortnight.
JO
So here I am a day behind schedule (yet again!). There is so much of Lewis Carroll’s White Rabbit in me lately, lost somewhere in Wonderland with a tendency to be playing catch up all the time especially where blogging is concerned.
So what’s my excuse? Well the reason for the delay has been a good one. My latest book had been going so well last week that yesterday with the words still flowing I simply could not stop -when the muse is with you, you simply have to stay with it! This is my sixth book and I have to say probably the most enjoyable I have written. Maybe that’s because it’s a fresh project. The other five were a series all linked to the same family. However, it’s also got a lot to do with the way this current plot has come together – like it’s meant to be. It’s had the feel good factor since I first started typing and that has never left me. I’m also loving these new characters I’ve created and this early on in the book that’s unusual too.
Write about what you know the advice goes so my stories have always had their roots in village life. Having grown up in one it’s familiar territory, not only from a landscape point of view, but from kind of characters you find there. Of course since my childhood days things have changed dramatically. When I was growing up in rural Wiltshire there were very few ‘incomers’ from the town. People in those days weren’t interested in living somewhere they perceived as being miles from anywhere. These days, however, it seems country life is the ‘must have’ for a good many people. The area surrounding Bath has appealed to many with that dream. With good rail and road links to London there is the ability to have the best of both worlds: highly paid jobs in the capital and an enjoyable life in a pleasant village outside it. There are some, however, who have gone the whole way and chosen to work as well as live here, deciding on a complete overhaul of their lifestyle. This migratory trek west has been going on since the mid-80s and I think in some ways is responsible for the city we have today. When I came to Bath in 1981 it was a different place, provincial and quiet. Now it’s opened up tremendously; it has great shopping, excellent hotels, amazing restaurants, two universities and a definite cosmopolitan feel. Alongside this, of course, are the things it has always been identified with – the Roman Baths, the Abbey and the amazing architecture of buildings like the Circus and the Royal Crescent.
Currently I live only three miles from Bath but if you look out of our windows in any direction you would never think you were that close to a city of 176,000 people. There are fields and woods all around. A wonderful, peaceful place to live and only a short drive away from everything the great Roman City has to offer.
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| The Abbey |
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| Pulteney Bridge and The Weir |
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| Roman Baths |
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| The Royal Crescent together with some of the Bath Lions |
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| The Circus |
Back to my WIP. For this new book the location has changed. Saying goodbye to the West Somerset setting of my Little Court series, I have now moved to South Devon. It’s a place I know really well and somewhere I never tire of coming back to. Dartmouth, which actually featured briefly in my last book, is in fact one of my favourite UK holiday destinations. I love that mix of boats and the water. We stay right on the marina and the apartment has a huge window which gives great views of everything that’s happening on both the river and the estuary. There’s an amazing atmosphere there at night too. Walking back from dinner at one of the many excellent restaurants in the town I never get tired of seeing that magical blaze of lights across the water at Kingswear. This part of Devon is known as South Hams; a beautiful part of the British Isles and a perfect setting for this new book.
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| Kingswear at night from Dartmouth |
So that about it for this week. Everything is going well I’m in a good place. I’m working on a topic for this coming weekend too so currently I’m ahead of the game. However I’m not sure with all the things I seem to pack into each day the White Rabbit tag is going to be one I can shake off very easily! I am trying very hard though, believe me!
See you next week.
Jo x
Please note: this post has also gone out on Blogger.
Days out in the car always involve a bit of a tussle over whose music gets played. We’ve now come to a deal that one of us will have their iPod playing on the outward journey, the other on the return. Problem sorted, right? Well not quite; you see neither of us really like each other’s music!
It’s a crazy thing because when I met my other half one of the things we found we had in common was that our music tastes were quite similar. In fact when we moved in together and our record collections were merged we found there was quite a bit of duplication. Time, however, appears to have completely turned that on its head. I do have quite an eclectic taste – ballads, R & B, even occasional electropop but guitar driven rock music is my main love. My other half acknowledges that some of my taste is good but a lot of it gets a definite thumbs down and at times a sort of ‘Are you kidding me?’ look. But then why complain when my feelings about his choices are just the same? So every trip out listening to his iPod becomes a bit of a travel lottery. Can I cope with it all? Should I take ear plugs? The reason for the latter comment is because one of his favourite bands are Yes who were very big in the seventies. Now I can cope with one or two tracks, but if I’m trapped in a car for any length of time with Jon Anderson’s falsetto voice I’m likely to want to open the door and take my chances with the tarmac!
Today as we drove down into Somerset for lunch with friends my other half’s music was playing. I was supposed to connect my iPod for the return journey but for whatever reason it didn’t happen. Usually I would have been a little miffed but on this occasion the music wasn’t bad and I felt fairly relaxed – probably helped by the large amount of wine consumed over lunch! The sun was out the sky blue and we sang along very loudly like a couple of twelve year olds to things like Yellow Submarine, Can’t Buy Me Love and Ticket to Ride as the Beatles came up on the shuffle. The Killers, Coldplay, Keane, Kasabian and similar followed with not a Yes track in sight! It’s obvious the shuffle fairy was on my side (thank goodness!). There have been times, however, when I’ve had to sit through track after track of the most uninspiring stuff which left me wondering ‘how did these guys get a recording contract for heaven’s sake?’
Still, like beauty I guess it’s all in the eyes (or in this case ears) of the beholder. As far as I’m concerned Reggae is a non-starter. Artists like Bob Marley. Desmond Dekker, Aswad and Steel Pulse completely bypassed me. Then there is Country Music. Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers doing Islands in the Stream is guaranteed to bring out the worst in me as is Tammy Wynette’s Stand by Your Man – or should I say Mayun? ‘Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman’ she drawls and for me it’s like someone dragging fingernails down a blackboard. Yes it is I want to tell her; men can be very difficult, support is one thing but sounding as if you are turning yourself into an accommodating doormat is bad, very bad Tammy!
Seriously though such a blanket statement about my dislike of Country Music is a little OTT, it’s simply the twee stuff I don’t like. I love Jude Cole and Shania Twain, especially her single It Don’t Impress Me Much because there’s a verse in that which aptly describes my other half. It’s the bit about kissing his car goodnight that really hits the spot with me because he’s absolutely passionate about his motors. Whenever I hear the song it always makes me laugh out loud and think ‘now that is so true!’ The kissing goodnight might be a tad far-fetched but there is no denying he does lavish a lot of attention on his four-wheeled ‘ladies’.
Well this lady has come to the end of her blog journey for today and will now leave you with some music to enjoy. Strangely I’ve found the choice this time very difficult, although I’m not sure why. There’s so much music out there which I really love and this time around because I simply could not decide what to choose I’ve done a blindfold and pin job instead. This really is a case of big production – melody and loads of energy. It’s U2 and of course with The Edge you have that brilliant guitar work as well. Enjoy or not as the case may be. Next time around I’ll try and post something a little less dramatic – Spanish guitar maybe or those wonderful Corrs – it’s a promise, but for now, till next week…
Apologies for the YouTube video not appearing – please click to view
JO LAMBERT 