Tuesday, 1 August 2017

Chapter furniture. Building a book.

I like to make my books look good on the inside as well as the outside. All my books have that little something that sets them apart. I always start with a quote pertaining to the story. I have chapter furniture, as I like to call the embellishments.

There is something special about flicking through a book and coming across a line drawing, a cartoon, a photo or different script. For me it shows there has been a level of care, thought and consideration not just for the words, but for the visual delectation of the reader. 




Friday, 7 July 2017

what to write and when

I always have more ideas than time to write them. But there comes a time when you are researching a book and you still want to be creative. This is when I write another book that has been nagging me for a while. I also find that if I get the cover sorted early it sets the book in my mind. I can change it around later, but talking about it, sharing it on social media having something to show makes the project a concrete thing. Psyco -babble maybe, but it works for me.
So this is how it pans out.
I'm researching my speculative fiction Pi. A trilogy...something I have always wanted to write.
At the equinox the planet received a call from 3.14159265359. What the message contained would be the end or the beginning. You make the call. You decide.
 Then I was tinkering with Il est Mort. A comedy. I have this one all plotted and ready to go with 20k good words down. I think this one has great potential, but I felt I needed a break from it because I just couldn't get the humour quite right...after all it needs to be funny. Real LOL funny and it was only mildly chuckly if you know what I mean. I have stepped away and I'm thinking on it and it will all fall into place. I think I know what I need to do and will come back to it with a fresh eye.

Crispin Stitt is suffering. He needs to take control of his life, but when his editor hates him, his publisher won't talk to him and his wife wished he was dead, pinning his hopes for a happy life on his latest manuscript is optimism in the extreme. 

So I started this one. It is just the ticket to keep me entertained while I write. This one is zippy and set in England, which suits my humour down to the ground. I am on the boil with this one.

When the 46th in line to the throne of England is popping by to congratulate Winnie Pollock on reaching 100, the village of Beetling Down goes all out for his light supper. But with the rivalry of the Tripe club -v- the Trotter Epicureans for catering, there is more to the story than a silver condiment set

Murder! Mayhem! and lesser cuts of meat.


My new work in progress. I love this one.

When Pomeroy Whistable, the 46th in line to the throne of England is popping by to congratulate Winnie Pollock on reaching 100, the village of Beetling Down goes all out for his light supper. But with the rivalry of the Tripe club -v- the Trotter Epicureans for catering, there is more to the story than a silver condiment set.

Thursday, 4 May 2017

boat to baguette in a magazine with a competition








.renestance.com click here
  read the small interview and maybe a chance to win a copy.

or cut and paste this address
https://www.renestance.com/from-boat-to-baguette/

Monday, 3 April 2017

Claude and his Amilcar

while walking to the shops we met Claude. He was a very interesting fellow and not just because of his car.

Once he knew we were Australian his English came out and he said he had been to Brisbane in 1965. Those were the days when he could just come to Australia and do what he wanted without visa problems, immigration worries and just have fun. Which he did, learning English in the bed of his many girlfriends no doubt.

He has restored his 1921 Amilcar which were made in St Denis, Paris and was proud of the achievement. It is in the racing Blue of France...Italy have Red and England -Green.  We were amazed that Claude was 78 years old, but as he told us,
"I have never worked in my life, so I don't have the worry."  He is a painter, an 'artist' and lives in a very old house. When people in France say 'very' old they usually mean around 200-300 years old.

Claude was a treat to talk to and a gentleman of the highest order. We hope to see him again...and maybe see his paintings.

Madame Madeline Bichue

Who would have thought a day at the beach would end up meeting the nicest old lady. We had been invited for a picnic at Plougrescat near Treguier in Brittany. It is on the Cote de Granit Rose with pink granite outcrops and a wild looking sea facing into the English channel.
After the beach we wandered around the main town of Tregeiur and gravitated to the Cathedral. This magnificent building was 13th and 14th century and didn t disappoint with relics from the old priests and to top it off a choir was rehearsing for a night of Mozart and we were treated to wonderful music as we strolled around admiring the woodwork, the organ and the sheer size of the building. I have an admiration for the workman who made these building to the Glory of their God. Despite the ravages of the revolution the relics of the church remain, the sacred heart of St Yves who watches over sailors was intact. There were many marble MERCI tablets to the Saint for saving those at sea a tradition that continues to this day. 




Then we strolled around the war cemetery where German and French soldiers were lying side by side and met Madeline or Mado as she called herself. Madame Bichue spoke english and had a wonderful tale to tell us. She invited us back to her house and we listened as her life of extraordinary adventure unfolded with the photos on her walls. 


Mado was one hell of a woman. She bought a boat in her younger days, a cargo ship and was the Captain, when women just didn't do that sort of thing. .She plied her trade in sand and other commodities. Her crew were from all over the world and still write to her from Russia, Poland, America and beyond. She is 93 and still lives in her palatial house right in the centre of town.  We were treated to a bit of a tour of the house and saw a stuffed boars head, a samuri sword, the wheel of her boat and pictures from her life. Her life has been boats and her door knocker is a brass anchor, polished to within an inch of its life. Out in the  yard a Russian Captain has given her the name of his boat to adorn the garden wall and there is a oil lantern which will light her way on the final journey. She was a joy to listen to and we were soon calling her 'tu' rather than the formal vous.
When an afternoon comes around like this it is a treasured souvenir. 

We promised to see her again, and write.