I haven't managed to write anything myself for a while, but here are some books written by others that I have thoroughly enjoyed reading.
I have recently read two books which I found were real “page turners”. Quite by coincidence, they follow a similar theme in both being about a person raising the ghosts of the past at the behest of someone else. That, though, is where the similarity ends.
Past Imperfect by Julian Fellowes - perhaps better known as the actor who played Lord Kilwillie in “Monarch of the Glen”, and wrote the screenplay of “Gosford Park” - tells the poignant stories of six women who were part of the glamorous London Season of 1968. Julian effortlessly evokes the customs and snobberies of this upper-class world in which he himself grew up, and in which anyone who was not of the right social calibre would remain for ever an outsider.
(ISBN 978 0 7538 2541 9)
If I Never, a first novel by Gary William Murning, tells a tender, romantic tale amid crime, drugs and violence in an un-named northern town. It is not the sort of book one would normally expect a Vicar to recommend, and is not for those who are squeamish about bad language and graphic images. However, it is a riveting read. Gary, whom I know personally, is not from Julian’s privileged background but is very much a gentleman; yet he still brings vividly to life the sort of world that, mercifully, neither he nor most of his readers have experienced at first hand. (ISBN 978 7 9065581 4 7)
Saturday 14 November 2009
Friday 19 June 2009
All That Glitters.....
A (very) short story by Frances Wookey
After a Medieval revenge story last week, I thought a truly 21st century one would make a good theme for this week's combined Writing Adventure Group/Flash Fiction activity.
"Did you get the phone?"
"Yes, and plenty of credits."
"Where did you go?"
"The big Tesco on the by-pass. I haven't been there for a while, and they were madly busy anyway; the sales-girl never even looked at me."
"Good! And you paid in cash?"
"Of course! Now let's get started. Who's on our list?"
"The woman in the cake shop who told you not to lean against the window - I've found out who she is - the vicar, and that rude doctor's receptionist."
"Do you think we ought to include the vicar? It doesn't seem right, he's man of God."
"A man of God is supposed to love all God's creatures, isn't he. He wasn't very loving about Satan when you took him for his walk in the churchyard - just because he put his muddy paws on that white nightie thing his Reverence ponces about in!"
"But will it work? He 's dead against the Lottery; he told Mabel she shouldn't have the machine in the Post Office."
"Let's try it shall we?
"Hello! Would that be the Reverend Fosdyke? Top of the morning to you! I've got some wonderful news, you've won this week's first prize in the Irish Lottery... You didn't buy a ticket, did you not? Well I expect one of your lovely congregation bought it for you, they do that you know.... How much? You'd better be sitting down, Reverend, its just over £15 million this week... Yes you did hear me right... Well of course, if it's against your principles, I wouldn't want to be forcing you... You're not wrong there, it certainly would pay for the church roof to be fixed... No! Of course you don't need to come to Ireland to get it. You just give me your bank details, and we'll credit the money straight away.... Excellent! Thank you very much Reverend, it's a pleasure talking to you!
"Amazing how people's principles fly out of the window when there's money involved - and their common sense! It does worry me that one day we'll get rumbled though"
"Not a chance! Everyone round here thinks we're both ga-ga! That was a great idea of yours, taking to wearing your trousers back to front - means you don't even have to open your mouth for people to think you've lost it. And I terrorise the whole neighbourhood on my mobility scooter - you saw that silly cow yesterday doing an emergency stop because she thought I was about to drive under her wheels. She looked scared to death - I loved giving her that sickly grin and waving her on!
No they wouldn't even believe that we knew how to operate a mobile phone, let alone set up a false online identity and all the other stuff for milking bank accounts. Which said, I'd better get on the computer and do the business with Reverend Fosdyke before he has time to get suspicious.
You ring that snotty bitch at the doctor's while I'm at it, then we'll have a nice cup of tea and a digestive biscuit."
“WAG #16: True Love” People watching time! This time, go people watching and select a couple. Write about the “secret” part of their relationship… the things about this couple that they don’t show to the world. It can be good and sweet things, like gooey pet names, or darker things, like arguing over who should take out the trash.
The incident with the mobility scooter happened to me yesterday - I was the "silly cow" driving the car - so this is my bit of revenge on the elderly couple who nearly gave me a heart attack! (NB I didn't notice whether the gentleman walking behind the lady on the scooter had his trousers on back to front - probably not!)
How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Other contributors to last week's exercise, "Best Tool for the Job"
Nancy Parra
Melanie Trevelyan
Dan Powell
J Strother - Mad Utopia
After a Medieval revenge story last week, I thought a truly 21st century one would make a good theme for this week's combined Writing Adventure Group/Flash Fiction activity.
"Did you get the phone?"
"Yes, and plenty of credits."
"Where did you go?"
"The big Tesco on the by-pass. I haven't been there for a while, and they were madly busy anyway; the sales-girl never even looked at me."
"Good! And you paid in cash?"
"Of course! Now let's get started. Who's on our list?"
"The woman in the cake shop who told you not to lean against the window - I've found out who she is - the vicar, and that rude doctor's receptionist."
"Do you think we ought to include the vicar? It doesn't seem right, he's man of God."
"A man of God is supposed to love all God's creatures, isn't he. He wasn't very loving about Satan when you took him for his walk in the churchyard - just because he put his muddy paws on that white nightie thing his Reverence ponces about in!"
"But will it work? He 's dead against the Lottery; he told Mabel she shouldn't have the machine in the Post Office."
"Let's try it shall we?
"Hello! Would that be the Reverend Fosdyke? Top of the morning to you! I've got some wonderful news, you've won this week's first prize in the Irish Lottery... You didn't buy a ticket, did you not? Well I expect one of your lovely congregation bought it for you, they do that you know.... How much? You'd better be sitting down, Reverend, its just over £15 million this week... Yes you did hear me right... Well of course, if it's against your principles, I wouldn't want to be forcing you... You're not wrong there, it certainly would pay for the church roof to be fixed... No! Of course you don't need to come to Ireland to get it. You just give me your bank details, and we'll credit the money straight away.... Excellent! Thank you very much Reverend, it's a pleasure talking to you!
"Amazing how people's principles fly out of the window when there's money involved - and their common sense! It does worry me that one day we'll get rumbled though"
"Not a chance! Everyone round here thinks we're both ga-ga! That was a great idea of yours, taking to wearing your trousers back to front - means you don't even have to open your mouth for people to think you've lost it. And I terrorise the whole neighbourhood on my mobility scooter - you saw that silly cow yesterday doing an emergency stop because she thought I was about to drive under her wheels. She looked scared to death - I loved giving her that sickly grin and waving her on!
No they wouldn't even believe that we knew how to operate a mobile phone, let alone set up a false online identity and all the other stuff for milking bank accounts. Which said, I'd better get on the computer and do the business with Reverend Fosdyke before he has time to get suspicious.
You ring that snotty bitch at the doctor's while I'm at it, then we'll have a nice cup of tea and a digestive biscuit."
“WAG #16: True Love” People watching time! This time, go people watching and select a couple. Write about the “secret” part of their relationship… the things about this couple that they don’t show to the world. It can be good and sweet things, like gooey pet names, or darker things, like arguing over who should take out the trash.
The incident with the mobility scooter happened to me yesterday - I was the "silly cow" driving the car - so this is my bit of revenge on the elderly couple who nearly gave me a heart attack! (NB I didn't notice whether the gentleman walking behind the lady on the scooter had his trousers on back to front - probably not!)
How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Other contributors to last week's exercise, "Best Tool for the Job"
Nancy Parra
Melanie Trevelyan
Dan Powell
J Strother - Mad Utopia
Tuesday 9 June 2009
A Dish Best Served Cold
A (very) short story by Frances Wookey
Ralph the Mason lovingly fondled his chisel. It was one of his favourite tools, handed down to him by his father; it was narrow and sharp, and he could use it for the finest carving. With it he had produced delicate leaves, bunches of grapes, even angels’ wings, but now he was imagining a very different use. He could feel himself sliding it between Eric the Fletcher’s ribs, seeing the shocked look in his eyes and the gasp of pain as he slumped, dead, to the floor. It would be better than he deserved after what the bastard had done to Ralph’s daughter.
Elizabeth had been only thirteen when Eric had seduced her with his lies. How was she to know that he already had a wife and three children, and that his promise to marry her was just to get what he wanted from her? When she told him that she was with child, he had laughed in her face. Ralph had thought that she would never stop crying, and it broke his heart as well; she was still his little girl, his first-born, and he could not bear to see her so unhappy. As her belly had expanded, she had gradually stopped grieving for her dreams of nuptial bliss with Eric, and started to worry about what the neighbours were saying about her. She refused to go out, or have anything to do with her friends, and turned from a lively, fun-loving young girl to a sad middle-aged woman in the space of a few weeks.
When the baby was born, he was a cheerful bouncing boy who fitted well enough into their household. He was only two years younger than his own youngest child, and Bess was already caring for her grandchild as if he were her own. Ralph had promised his wife and daughter that, when this job was finished, he would find work far enough away that they could make a fresh start, where no-one knew of Elizabeth’s shame. But he had promised himself that before then he would have his revenge on Eric the Fletcher.
Taking the chisel purposefully in his hand, he gently began to tap its wooden handle with his small mallet. Gradually marks appeared a on the block of stone, and once more in his imagination he could see Eric’s all too handsome face. But this time it was distorted into an ugly leer, grinning backwards over a large, round, naked arse. Ralph was not going to jeopardise his life in this world, and his immortal soul, for the sake of scum like the fletcher; and he could make him suffer far more than the momentary pain of the chisel’s blade in his ribs. Once the carving was in place, all he needed to do was to point out its likeness to a few of his friends, and Eric would never be able to walk down the street again without being followed by lewd shouts and pointing fingers.
There were always one or two comic carvings in the stonework of a new cathedral, and this one would stand as a monument to Eric’s lust and treachery until the end of Time. Yes, Ralph’s chisel would give him his revenge.
This week, I have followed Jon Strother's idea of using the Writing Adventure Group exercise to write a piece of "flash fiction" to be publicised on Twitter for #fictionfriday. If you want to know more, follow the link below to Jon's blog below. If you are interested in joining the Writing Adventure Group, there is also a link for more information.
“WAG #15: Best Tool For The Job” Thanks to Paige for the topic idea! Paige’s idea was to have the topic this week be about writing tools such as a keyboard or favourite pen, but I’d like to expand this to be any type of tool, whether it’s a gardening tool or a jackhammer or a toenail clipper. Describe a favourite tool in concrete terms, but also show how you (or whomever it belongs to) feel about using it, and how it leaves an individual or particular mark on the end product.
How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Contributors to the last WAG exercise - "Do overs"
Nancy Parra
Nixy Valentine
Dan Powell
Frances Wookey
Paige Bruce
J.M. Strother - Mad Utopia
Peter Spalton
Christine Kirchoff
Brenda M
Marsha
Mickey Hoffman
Ralph the Mason lovingly fondled his chisel. It was one of his favourite tools, handed down to him by his father; it was narrow and sharp, and he could use it for the finest carving. With it he had produced delicate leaves, bunches of grapes, even angels’ wings, but now he was imagining a very different use. He could feel himself sliding it between Eric the Fletcher’s ribs, seeing the shocked look in his eyes and the gasp of pain as he slumped, dead, to the floor. It would be better than he deserved after what the bastard had done to Ralph’s daughter.
Elizabeth had been only thirteen when Eric had seduced her with his lies. How was she to know that he already had a wife and three children, and that his promise to marry her was just to get what he wanted from her? When she told him that she was with child, he had laughed in her face. Ralph had thought that she would never stop crying, and it broke his heart as well; she was still his little girl, his first-born, and he could not bear to see her so unhappy. As her belly had expanded, she had gradually stopped grieving for her dreams of nuptial bliss with Eric, and started to worry about what the neighbours were saying about her. She refused to go out, or have anything to do with her friends, and turned from a lively, fun-loving young girl to a sad middle-aged woman in the space of a few weeks.
When the baby was born, he was a cheerful bouncing boy who fitted well enough into their household. He was only two years younger than his own youngest child, and Bess was already caring for her grandchild as if he were her own. Ralph had promised his wife and daughter that, when this job was finished, he would find work far enough away that they could make a fresh start, where no-one knew of Elizabeth’s shame. But he had promised himself that before then he would have his revenge on Eric the Fletcher.
Taking the chisel purposefully in his hand, he gently began to tap its wooden handle with his small mallet. Gradually marks appeared a on the block of stone, and once more in his imagination he could see Eric’s all too handsome face. But this time it was distorted into an ugly leer, grinning backwards over a large, round, naked arse. Ralph was not going to jeopardise his life in this world, and his immortal soul, for the sake of scum like the fletcher; and he could make him suffer far more than the momentary pain of the chisel’s blade in his ribs. Once the carving was in place, all he needed to do was to point out its likeness to a few of his friends, and Eric would never be able to walk down the street again without being followed by lewd shouts and pointing fingers.
There were always one or two comic carvings in the stonework of a new cathedral, and this one would stand as a monument to Eric’s lust and treachery until the end of Time. Yes, Ralph’s chisel would give him his revenge.
This week, I have followed Jon Strother's idea of using the Writing Adventure Group exercise to write a piece of "flash fiction" to be publicised on Twitter for #fictionfriday. If you want to know more, follow the link below to Jon's blog below. If you are interested in joining the Writing Adventure Group, there is also a link for more information.
“WAG #15: Best Tool For The Job” Thanks to Paige for the topic idea! Paige’s idea was to have the topic this week be about writing tools such as a keyboard or favourite pen, but I’d like to expand this to be any type of tool, whether it’s a gardening tool or a jackhammer or a toenail clipper. Describe a favourite tool in concrete terms, but also show how you (or whomever it belongs to) feel about using it, and how it leaves an individual or particular mark on the end product.
How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Contributors to the last WAG exercise - "Do overs"
Nancy Parra
Nixy Valentine
Dan Powell
Frances Wookey
Paige Bruce
J.M. Strother - Mad Utopia
Peter Spalton
Christine Kirchoff
Brenda M
Marsha
Mickey Hoffman
Thursday 4 June 2009
"If I Never"
This is the "blurb" for novel written by a friend of mine, Gary Murning.
"Price is used to living within the shadow of threatening friend George - forever in the fear that not to follow his lead will end with a beating. However, new developments mean his life finally seems to be moving from the dormant and gaining some positive development. Before long, though, George is back and Price finds himself following his friend once more. But this time it is different - secrets are discovered, decisions are to be made and life and perspective will never be the same again. "If I Never" is a novel about asking questions but being unsure if you want to know the answers."
It is to be published at the end of August by Legend Press Ltd and can be pre-ordered on http://tinyurl.com/mklp6e from www.amazon.co.uk
ISBN-10: 1906558140
ISBN-13: 978-1906558147
Gary is a very talented new author, with a lively mind and fantastic perception of the human condition. From extracts that I have read of his writing, I can't wait for this book to come out - I'm sure that it will be wonderful read!
"Price is used to living within the shadow of threatening friend George - forever in the fear that not to follow his lead will end with a beating. However, new developments mean his life finally seems to be moving from the dormant and gaining some positive development. Before long, though, George is back and Price finds himself following his friend once more. But this time it is different - secrets are discovered, decisions are to be made and life and perspective will never be the same again. "If I Never" is a novel about asking questions but being unsure if you want to know the answers."
It is to be published at the end of August by Legend Press Ltd and can be pre-ordered on http://tinyurl.com/mklp6e from www.amazon.co.uk
ISBN-10: 1906558140
ISBN-13: 978-1906558147
Gary is a very talented new author, with a lively mind and fantastic perception of the human condition. From extracts that I have read of his writing, I can't wait for this book to come out - I'm sure that it will be wonderful read!
Sunday 31 May 2009
My Secret Garden
Writing Adventure Group Exercise
“WAG #14: Do-Overs” Thanks to Carol for the topic idea! (This one is more of a mental/emotional exercise than observational, but you get bonus points if you can somehow tie this to a person you can see and describe OR a physical object.) Think of a time where you’d like to change what happened - whether it’s to get that witty retort in or to say something you never got the chance to say. Write how it should have been and compare it to the reality.
My Secret Garden
I have just rescued my potted fig tree from under a blanket of convulvulus, and moved it to a space next to the front porch. This represents an admission of defeat. It was meant to be the centre-piece of a little hideaway garden between the side of the house and my neighbour's fence, screened from the rest of the back garden by bushes, and from the prying eyes of passers-by with some bamboo fencing. The plan was to create a little Mediterranean haven in rural Worcestershire where I could sit, protected from the world, luxuriating in the perfume of honeysuckle and lavender.
Sadly, the dream has never become a reality. The lavender bushes died in one of the wettest summers on record. The bamboo fence blew down in the winter gales, and it half stands, half lies on the ground, a monument to my idleness in not removing it. Beyond it the little square of ground, for which I had such great plans, has been taken over by nettles, feral aquilegias and the smothering convulvulus. Only the honeysuckle climbing up the fence blooms bravely amid the chaos, and I can take no credit for that; it was planted by a previous occupant of the house, and survives in spite of not because of the present one.
I should not be surprised at yet another failure to realise my plans for a garden. I have an unbroken record of horticultural disaster stretching back nearly four decades, but I continue to live in hope that, one day, things may be different.
“WAG #14: Do-Overs” Thanks to Carol for the topic idea! (This one is more of a mental/emotional exercise than observational, but you get bonus points if you can somehow tie this to a person you can see and describe OR a physical object.) Think of a time where you’d like to change what happened - whether it’s to get that witty retort in or to say something you never got the chance to say. Write how it should have been and compare it to the reality.
My Secret Garden
I have just rescued my potted fig tree from under a blanket of convulvulus, and moved it to a space next to the front porch. This represents an admission of defeat. It was meant to be the centre-piece of a little hideaway garden between the side of the house and my neighbour's fence, screened from the rest of the back garden by bushes, and from the prying eyes of passers-by with some bamboo fencing. The plan was to create a little Mediterranean haven in rural Worcestershire where I could sit, protected from the world, luxuriating in the perfume of honeysuckle and lavender.
Sadly, the dream has never become a reality. The lavender bushes died in one of the wettest summers on record. The bamboo fence blew down in the winter gales, and it half stands, half lies on the ground, a monument to my idleness in not removing it. Beyond it the little square of ground, for which I had such great plans, has been taken over by nettles, feral aquilegias and the smothering convulvulus. Only the honeysuckle climbing up the fence blooms bravely amid the chaos, and I can take no credit for that; it was planted by a previous occupant of the house, and survives in spite of not because of the present one.
I should not be surprised at yet another failure to realise my plans for a garden. I have an unbroken record of horticultural disaster stretching back nearly four decades, but I continue to live in hope that, one day, things may be different.
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