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Wednesday 18 September 2019

MEET THE AUTHOR - making another exhibition of myself

MEET THE AUTHOR
making another exhibition of myself


As an author with my own publishing company I have to wear several hats. As I writer, my life is, by nature, solitary. I work either on my laptop in bed (!), in the sun room or sitting on the sofa when there's something on the TV that doesn't grab my attention. Bed is nice, as I have distant views of the sea and the sun room looks over the garden. However, the best place is in my purpose-built studio.



Built around the backdrop for my medal-winning 2007 Chelsea Flower show garden it looks, and feels, like a railway carriage. I have even better views of the channel, which can be distracting when an interesting ship sails down-channel. 



However, the hat I love and dread wearing in equal measures is the one when I'm promoting my books. It means meeting the public - something I really enjoy as I love talking to people. But it brings the stress of having to perform along with periods of inactivity, waiting for the public to turn up. On top of that, I tend to stand up for long stretches and that plays havoc with my lower back. But, it has to be done. 

So, if you see me at one of my book-signing or meet the author and his dog days, please say hello but also feel a little sorry for me.









Wednesday 4 September 2019

A BIRD IN THE HAND or a bird in a book

A BIRD IN THE HAND
or
a bird in a book

Oystercatcher

When I'm writing my DI Sony Russell crime stories I try hard to establish place by describing the surroundings. Because much of what happens occurs in the countryside, birds are a very good way of fixing the setting. In this extract from BLOOD ON THE TIDE, the distinctive cry of curlews and oystercatchers help to establish the maritime setting.

Boats of differing sizes and colours stood about the yard, some resting upturned on blocks of wood or trestles, others sitting on the stony ground shrouded in green canvas. Lengths of timber leant against the boatshed, coils of rope and piles of chain cluttered the ground, creating hazards for the unwary. A thin haze hung over the estuary, obscuring the horizon. Unseen oystercatchers called as they searched for food and the mournful cry of a curlew came from some distance away.


In BLOOD ON THE SHRINE, I wanted to capture the quiet that a thick coating of snow brings to the landscape. 

THE LANDSCAPE looked picture perfect. The fields were covered with a pristine coating of white, sparkling in the winter sun. It was so deep that the fences and hedges that formed the boundaries were reduced to amorphous mounds. Trees, skeletal in form, were festooned with shimmering coatings of snow, an occasional bird landing on a branch sending a cascade of flakes spiralling to the ground. In the distance a plume of smoke rose lazily from a chimney but there was no sign of anything moving. Sheep and cows were either under cover or huddled in field margins, waiting for the farmer to bring fodder.


                                 Robin                                                                Great Tit
Wren

Away from the coast there is a completely different selection of birds. In BLOOD ON THE SHRINE I tried to portray a quiet woodland, the one I remember from my days camping as a Boy Scout.

Although cool, it was a calm evening. The rain had held off. The only sound was the wind, soughing in the trees and the song of birds. Russell could identify some: robin, great tit, wren and a couple of others he wasn’t sure about. Then there was the distant sound of a whistle and within a few minutes, a locomotive came into sight, pulling a pair of work worn carriages which rattled and clattered slowly over the crossing as the train climbed the slight gradient and disappeared out of view, round the bend.

Black-headed gull

Back at the coast black headed-gulls join the other birds in an extract from BLOOD ON THE STRAND.

The sun had come out from behind the clouds. It was going to be a warm day. Seabirds could be heard along the river: the rising, bubbling note of a curlew; the insistent piping of oystercatchers overlaid with the raucous bickering of black-headed gulls. In the distance a halliard clattered rhythmically against a mast. 

All three books are available in paperback or Kindle. Details on the right of the blog.