Newsletter 151

Life at Cochrane Towers is a strange mixture of manic and mellow today, the manic being that we’re off for a weekend of watching golf tomorrow and the mellow a result of having been to see Aled Jones in concert yesterday. Winchester Cathedral was a stunning venue and he has an amazing voice – especially when he duetted with his younger self!


I’ve been blogging recently about moving out of our comfort zones and expanding our horizons. At the BSB Festival Blog I’ve pontificated about getting out of our writing dens to meet other authors and at Not Your Usual Suspects I’ve been thinking about how we can try to edge into new markets. Do drop in and give your opinions.

Writing wise, I’m just in the finishing strait with my historical for the Porthkennack project. Love those graphics. Here’s a totally unedited snippet where my hero, Michael, and his nephew are walking along the beach:

What’s that?” Michael stopped by a mound of rocks, where little pools of trapped water promised boyish delights. He reached beneath the surface of one to draw out something green and glistening.
“A bottle of course.” Richard shook his head at such dimwittedness.
“Ah, but is it an ordinary bottle or a magic one? If we rub it will a genie come out and grant us three wishes? And how would we divide them if he did?”
Richard frowned; neither algebra or grammar held the answer to that. “One each and one for mother,” he stated, at last, and with a conviction that could brook no argument. “None for Lily because she’s too young to use them sensibly.”
“You’re probably right.” Michael wondered if Richard would ever regard his sister as being old enough to act sensibly. “I like that way of dividing them. What would you wish for? All the sweets in the shop?”
Richard giggled, looking just like his mother when she was the same age. “That’s the sort of thing Lily would want. I’d wish for no more algebra or grammar lessons for any boys forever more. What about you?”
“I’m not sure. You’ve taken care of the school stuff, already.”
“I know what mother would wish for,” Richard said, suddenly serious again.
“And what’s that?” Michael asked, attention only half on his nephew, the other half considering what he would do if really presented with the opportunity to make that wish. To have such power—the responsibility would be overwhelming.
“She’d wish for all the soldiers who were hurt in the war to be whole again.”
“Oh.” Michael, unable to say more, kept his gaze straight out at sea. Maybe if he concentrated really hard he could keep at bay the tears that suddenly threatened to unman him.

Upcoming appearances:

Deadly Dames are at Hythe (the Hampshire one) Library on Tuesday 13th September, but before then I’ll be having a table at Selsey “Meet the Authors” where I suspect I shall be fangirling Simon Brett in amongst trying to sell my own books!

Wishing you a great weekend.

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