JOURNEY'S END - well not quite

JOURNEY'S END

well not quite

A few days ago I finished writing the fourth book in the DI Sonny Russell series of crime novels, BLOOD ON THE CARDS. It came as something of a surprise.

I started writing it back in December 2018 with only the germ of an idea  - that the body of a fortune teller would be found in a WW2 pillbox near Appledore in Kent. Besides that, I hadn't a clue where the story was going to take me. 

I remember listening to Anne Cleeves, the author of the Shetland and Vera novels that have been so successfully transferred to the small screen. She was choosing her eight records on Radio 4's Desert Island Discs and said there were two types of writers - plotters and pantsters. 

Plotters know exactly where they are going, even to the extent of creating a graph or wall chart, showing the characters, the locations and the plots and just how they are going to react with each other. Pantsters, on the other hand, literally fly by the seat of the pants, following every twist and turn of the story they are creating. Writing like a reader, they are never sure where the narrative is going to take them. I'm one of those. 

I do enjoy the writing, above everything else - editing and promotion for instance - and feel quite bereft when I come to the end of a story that I have been wrapped up in for nearly a year. I would quite like to get on with the next instalment, but first the hard work really starts.

I will have to go through this first draft, carefully checking for inaccuracies, to make sure the chronology is correct and that the narrative floes. I will then hand my baby over to my better half, Greer, who after a lifetime in journalism is more than qualified to check for errors I've missed. I then like to pass it on to a beta reader* to get his opinion of the story. (Very sadly, a good friend who fulfilled that function on the last manuscript, passed away recently so I will have to find another trusted friend to take his place. Not an easy task.)

Then, when all are satisfied, it's off to the printer. So, although the writing is done, there's still a long way to go. However, if you haven't already met DI Sonny Russell, Aggie, his faithful Jack Russell terrier and DC Johnny Weeks, the first three books are available in paperback or kindle.

*A beta reader is usually an unpaid test reader of an unreleased work of literature, who gives feedback from the point of view of an average reader to the author.

A DIFFERENT SORT OF EXHIBITION

A DIFFERENT SORT OF EXHIBITION

Fresh fish stall at Compass Point.

As well as writing books and designing gardens, I also find time to model narrow gauge railway layouts. In a former life I was a professional model maker, making, amongst other things, houses, teapots, cars and robots in a variety of materials. Most of the time I was up against a deadline and tied to a maximum price, which could often lead to a feeling of stress. I'm glad to have left that behind and can now make models, purely for my own pleasure - without the stress. Well, up to a point. For my sins, I take my model railways to exhibitions. As the current layout, Compass Point, is the inspiration for my crime novels, I take some books along too.

DI Sonny Russell's railway carriage home

The shows are usually great fun, I meet lots of nice people and receive compliments for my work. Usually. Generally, the exhibitions are reasonably close to home and just for one day, plus my friend Terry comes with me and is happy to transport the layout in his transit van. However, I've agreed to take part in a two day exhibition in Fareham, which is a two-and-a-half-hour drive away, so I will need an overnight stay. In addition, Terry isn't coming so I've had to pack everything into our Fiat 500!

Everything packed in a Fiat 500

Luckily Terry came round and he helped carry everything down from the studio. Set up, the layout is a total of 2.8 metres long or over nine feet. In addition there are trestles to support it plus a proscenium arch and lighting board - also, rolling stock, transformers, cables, tools etc, etc. Not to mention an overnight bag and a box of books for sale. Phew! It was a struggle to get everything in and I made sure to take photographs so I know how to repack it on Sunday after the show. Hopefully I'll sell a few books, which will help to make it worthwhile. Not sure I'll accept the invitation for another two day, long-distance exhibition again. Unless I hire a van, of course.

If you're anywhere near Fareham this weekend, do come and say hello. http://fareham-mrc.org.uk/railex-2019/

If not, remember, you can obtain my books and kindles on Amazon 

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.

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.

TAKE COURAGE - or a better beer!

TAKE COURAGE

or a better beer!

As my crime stories are set in the 1950s, much of the action takes place in pubs. In those day, drink-driving was hardly frowned upon and even policemen were known to imbibe on or off-duty.

Some beers were just about acceptable - Courage bitter for instance, but others, despite being widely drunk, were frowned upon by beer connoisseurs. Watney's Red Barrel, introduced in 1931, was an export keg beer that could travel long distances as it was filtered and pasteurised, probably represented the nadir of bitter drinking. 

Style and Winch was one of the older breweries. It was registered in March 1899 as merger between A F Style & Co with Edward Winch & Sons Ltd and had a total of 356 public houses. Another thing which helps to establish the period is to describe the vessels that were used for drinking the beer and these were often pewter tankards.

Here is an extract from BLOOD ON THE TIDE, describing the Shipwrights Arms the pub at Compass Point (Rye Harbour).

The Shipwrights Arms was a modest building, with stone walls, tiny recessed windows and a pantiled roof. It sat right at the end of the quay, next to the station, hunkered down against the weather. It had withstood any number of gales and powerful storms and had survived, battered but unbowed. Inside was a small, low-ceilinged room, the once white paintwork now the colour of nicotine, stained dark from years of coal fires and the smoke of a lifetime of tobacco pipes. The woodwork was an even deeper colour, with a tar-like quality. Indeed, tar may well have been used as a ready substitute for paint. The room served as the solitary bar and a door marked PRIVATE led to Alf’s compact accommodation. The landlord was far from being the archetypal mine host. Rangy and thin, he barely spoke more than a sentence at a time, always wore a suit and tie and had bookshelves crammed with classics in his living room. He stood, impassive, in front of a brace of barrels of ale sitting on a rack behind the wooden counter. There was a foxed mirror on the wall above a shelf, reflecting a line of brown bottles. Below the barrels, shelves held clean, upturned glasses; pints and halves. The floor was bare floorboards, with a dusting of sawdust and sand and apart from a couple of stools, the only other seating was comprised of three chairs that had seen better days, arranged around a battered tin-topped table, next to the unlit fire.

The morning sun slanted through the small windows, dust motes dancing in the rays. An old clock ticked on the wall, and apart from the occasional squeak as Alf polished glasses, all was tranquil.

KILROY WAS HERE - wot no sugar

KILROY WAS HERE - wot no sugar

While writing my current book, BLOOD ON THE CARDS, I researched wartime graffiti. I wanted to describe the interior of a WW2 pillbox where the body of a fortune teller is found. I decided to use this one. Not sure if it actually existed but it amused me to think it might have.

Also, 

YANKS GO HOME

This would have been quite common at the time. 

But one that was seen all over during that period was KILROY. The figure was initially known in the United Kingdom as MR CHAD and would appear with the slogan "Wot, no sugar" or a similar phrase bemoaning shortages and rationing.He often appeared with a single curling hair that resembled a question mark and with crosses in his eyes.The phrase "Wot, no —?" pre-dates "Chad" and was widely used separately from the doodle. Chad was used by the RAF and civilians; he was known in the Army as Private Snoops, and in the Navy he was called The Watcher.

Even older was FOO who predates Kilroy by about 25 years.

ALEISTER CROWLEY & the esoteric Tarot

ALEISTER CROWLEY

&

The esoteric Tarot

Aleister Crowley was an English occultist, ceremonial magician, poet, painter, novelist, and mountaineer. A prolific writer, he founded the religion of Thelema and published widely over the course of his life.

So begins Chapter 6 of BLOOD ON THE CARDS, the fourth book in the DI Sonny Russell crime series I am currently writing. The story revolves around the death of a fortune teller at a funfair on the Salts at Nottery Quay (a thinly veiled Rye, in East Sussex.)

As Tarot cards play a large part I needed research into their origin and meanings. Back when I as a callow youth I became very intrigued by this branch of divination and even started telling peoples fortunes, using them. I probably wasn't very good but found it fascinating.

As a result of my recent research, I discovered that Aleister Crowley had designed, with paintings by Lady Frieda Harris, a beautiful deck called the Thoth Tarot. I also discovered that he spent his last years in a nursing home/lodging house on The Ridge in Hastings. 

https://www.hastingsindependentpress.co.uk/features/the-beast-of-hastings-aleister-crowley-1/

This was in the 1970s and what was left of the building subsequently became the Robert de Mortain pub. Sadly this is no more. Although I understand that it was never a great pub, the building of The Conquerors March, just up the road, sounded its death knell. (It really annoys me that this corporate chain place, not dissimilar to a Beefeater, lacks an apostrophe!)

The pub was demolished and houses have now been rapidly thrashed up on the site and it amuses me to think that the ghost of Aleister Crowley, once called the most evil man in Britain, may haunt these charmless boxes!